


Trahe Me Post Te

by FawkesyLady (Tarma)



Series: Songs of Joy and Peace [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Romance, Christmas Caroling, Christmas Shopping, F/M, Genderfluid Character, HP: EWE, Mistletoe, Post Hogwarts AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/pseuds/FawkesyLady
Summary: Any witch will tell you that retail therapy can work wonders, but when Severus Snape is maneuvered into a manufactured shopping mission by his colleagues, will he see the light?





	1. In Dulci Jublio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coromandel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel/gifts).



> This was a challenge, where I was provided with a pairing and idea “What happens when the man braves the shops in order to find the perfect gift for a woman? (Extra points for humour!)” A quinary fandom suggestion was Jane Austen, any.
> 
> The chapter headings are lines from a Christmas Carol that I sang every year in college (In Dulci Jublio). It is somewhat obscure, but the title is taken from the last line of the first verse and translates roughly to, “Draw me, I will run after you.” It is meant to be religious but it struck me as romantic, a sort of challenge and promise wrapped in one. 
> 
> The story is set in 2006. 
> 
> An extra element added into this story is an original character who has been introduced in my main work, Time Immemorial, one Conrad (Connie when feeling feminine) Rolle, and an oblique reference to Whittington Nott later on, another original character. Coromandel happens to be my beta reader and Connie was written for her. I consider this story to be an AU to my AU. 
> 
> Thanks to RavenclawPixieRose for organising the challenge, and to Braixenboy17, miridelaney, and FrancineHibiscus for being test readers and patient sounding boards.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall surveyed the staffroom, its atmosphere warmed by a fire that staved off the cold of November. She could just feel the holiday spirit lacing the amiable chatter of the teachers at the school sharing a cuppa, helped along by the lovely rum cake provided by Ancient Runes Professor, Hermione Granger.  “Next time we’ll be discussing the plans for the holidays. Please collect the names of students who will be staying over and hand them in to me by the first week of December. I’ll be wanting volunteers to help organise the Yule Ball. Thank you all for your enthusiasm in advance.”

 

McGonagall’s eyes met with the clear blues of Connie Rolle, Professor of Arithmancy, who was decked out to the nines in a garish jumper depicting Reindeer involved in very adult games. Those eyes were bright with laughter, and Minerva was hard pressed to maintain her composure. They were plotting again, and their targets had no idea. Minerva inclined her head a fraction and Connie straightened, quivering with anticipation.  

 

The heat of the Cognac in her belly coupled with the prospect of seeing two more of her favorite people happy had her practically purring, and she settled back watching the people around her with half-lowered eyes.  Last year’s holiday season had been blessed by the wedding celebration of two of her oldest friends and colleagues, Pomona Sprout and Filius Flitwick. The couple had been an item back before the first Wizarding War, but private grief had turned their love sour. It took years of delicate questioning and ultimately the application of brandy to ascertain that Pomona was barren, and could never give Professor Flitwick a child. She had returned his ring, saying only that she was no longer inclined to marry.

 

Minerva was one of the few people who was deep enough in Filius’ confidence to know the extent of his devotion to Pomona. The faithful wizard had tried his damnedest over the years to divine what he had done wrong. He never moved on in spite of attempts of others on staff to introduce him to other witches, his heart was firmly dedicated to Pomona.

 

Then, the solution finally presented itself to McGonagall. Many children were left orphaned as a result of the war, so Minerva carefully prompted Professor Flitwick into taking a personal interest in these displaced children, openly suggesting that he could, in his bachelorhood, adopt and naturally he did have some trepidation about becoming a father alone. Professor Sprout’s strong emotional response to her former love’s plans almost scuttled the whole operation, but at last she admitted the real reason behind her decades gone by rejection. The renewal between them was lovely to watch, and as they say, the rest was history.

 

Now Minerva had turned her sights on Severus Snape, War Hero and Potions Master, who first joined their staff 25 years ago as the youngest faculty on record in time immemorial. Technically he should be Headmaster, but he refused the position when he returned to his post, following extensive medical leave and legal trouble connected to his role in the war.

 

The man that emerged after the years of trials and testing, having seen death and survived was a different person. He still possessed a biting wit and a sharp mind, and would not bear fools easily, but he was much more human. He smiled, and on rare occasion would laugh. He no longer wore uninterrupted black. He wore his hair held back in a thong, rather than allowing it to hang lank about his face.

 

Indeed, Minerva held high hopes when she had seen him walking about Hogsmeade over weekends in the company of various witches, but none of them ever seemed to work out. Sure, he holidayed in France three years ago with a lovely witch named Laverne, but they never formed a more lasting attachment. She had married an American this past summer, and Severus consulted with her on what to send as a wedding present.

 

Her other project was their newest faculty member, Hermione Granger. Miss Granger, one of the so-called Golden Trio, had returned to help rebuild and graduated, as expected, at the top of her class in 1999, a year later than she would have because of the war. She went on to study Ancient Runes at Durmstrang, and finished a six year course of work in three, presenting her thesis and receiving recognition before returning to England. Her relationship with Ronald Weasley hadn’t survived the aftermath of the war. Privately, Minerva felt that this might have been what prompted the witch to turn down a seat at Oxford, where she had originally been accepted to study Law.

 

Either way, Miss Granger returned confident and determinedly single. Rumor was that she sought out her old boyfriend Viktor Krum, however over the past two years the papers joyfully reported Krum’s banns of marriage and subsequent additions to the family. Miss Granger confided to Minerva last year, after Sprout and Flitwick’s wedding that she fully expected that she would remain a spinster and was determined to make the best of it. Her old cat, Crookshanks, had died while she was doing her Post-Graduate work, and she had yet to replace her familiar, failing to find another creature, “As misunderstood and maligned” as she had been. When she uttered those words over tea in the faculty lounge one day, McGonagall’s eye happened to fall on Severus Snape and the idea grew from there.

 

Presently, Hermione Granger was passing around slices of Buttered Rum cake, a recipe that she had been learning from Molly Weasley. It was time to introduce the subject. As Hermione approached the proper side of the room, McGonagall smiled at her little coven and asked, “So, how are you all getting on with your holiday shopping?”

 

Granger, always quick with an answer, chirped helpfully, “I finished in July.” She made a face, “Might need a minor revision, but I think I am done, really.” She looked around as though hoping for house points before recalling her task. She handed a slice of cake to the platinum blonde, impeccably coiffed Professor of Arithmancy. Conrad Rolle, or Connie, as she insisted everyone call her, was one of the worst gossips at the school. She was also possessed of a fluid gender, and she was rather good about dressing the part. If he was identifying as male, a pencil-thin mustache would appear and his robes would be more reserved. If female, she would be dressed to the nines. In addition to his iron-clad nerves, Connie had a real passion for gossip and meddling.

 

As Hermione made her way back to the sidetable to get a few more slices, Connie made eye-contact with Minerva and after Flitwick elaborated on his festive plans to make matching amplifying pillows for his Toad chorus, Connie chimed in. “Oh, I’ve a few things yet to find here and there. But my troubles are NOTHING compared to Severus over there.”

 

Severus Snape was hiding behind his copy of The Flame, a Potions journal published in the Americas. He allowed the top of the paper to sag enough to glare over at Rolle in alarm, one eyebrow arched in well practised irritation.

 

Always helpful and true, Hermione Granger took the bait immediately. Minerva was smug, as Rolle and Snape were the last to be served, choreographed down to the breath, Hermione was already walking back over to Snape, handing him a plate. After his desultory, “Thank you,” he was saved from having to elaborate further by Rolle.

 

“Oh, Severus wasn’t going to bother anyone with this, but he has been pining after a lady, and doesn’t know what to get her as a gift.” Connie flashed a row of even, white teeth, and fluttered criminally long mascara-laden lashes as she went on to explain in a theatrical hush, “Sev’s shy.”

 

Professor Granger retrieved her own piece of cake and sat down to eat it too, picking the empty right across from Professor Snape. The glare that Snape was sending at Connie promised that Rolle was about to have to start checking his shampoo for unflattering dyes. Unphased, Connie tittered, “Oh, don’t be like that, Severus. I’m just trying to help.”

 

Every eye in the room was fixed on Snape, who narrowed his eyes at Connie before turning back to the confection in front of him. Well, and the cake. Clearing his throat after taking a bite of the very strong rum, he commented, “Excellent cake. Molly’s recipe?”

 

Hermione Granger answered after a delay, “What? Oh...yes, quite so. This cake helped me get through years of festivities at the Weasleys so I finally persuaded her to give me her recipe.”

 

Laughlines crinkled about Severus’ eyes and he commented, “I wondered how you endured the chaos.”

 

This prompted a blush and a chuckle in response, “Can’t hide behind a book all of the time.” The remark had a bitter edge to it, and Minerva was quite sure that Molly Weasley had uttered this  often enough. She was deeply disappointed that Miss Granger had not been successful with her Ronald, so she had taken to making comments regularly that were meant to hint to Hermione what went wrong. Ronald Weasley had long since moved on, and had married Moira Fortescue four years ago. He had expanded his family and waistline, and was working with his brother George at the joke shop in Diagon Alley.

 

“I know. Dreadful.” Severus and Hermione shared a smile, two beleaguered introverts who understood one another.

 

A gasp from Connie shattered the moment. “Oh, it is too good. I know just the thing, Severus!”

 

The harassed Wizard closed his eyes and sighed. “What now?”

 

Connie had only taken a few bites, trying to preserve her boyish figure. She was leaning forwards, her perfectly manicured fingernails shining as she mooned at Hermione as though she had promised a million galleons and her very own harem. “But don’t you see?”

 

Severus’ face was clouding over with the gathering storm of choice words that no one wanted to hear, but Hermione flushed prettily and helpfully translated, “I think that since I’m good at shopping, Professor Rolle believes I could help you.”

 

Ever helpful, Connie clapped her hands and bounced a bit in his chair. “Oh yes! Now that you mention it, that’s a brilliant notion. Sev, you simply must let Professor Granger teach you the ropes.”

 

Cornered! Severus Snape was pole-axed. It looked as though someone had knocked him over the head with a clue brick and he was about to keel over. McGonagall could barely contain her mirth. Where was a camera when you needed it. She said helpfully, “Well, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea, now that you mention it.”

 

Hermione’s blush deepened and she hastened to add, “I meant to say, I’m organized and I have a system. For shopping, that is.” She glanced at the man and seemed to wilt under his scowl, “Of course, I don’t know anything about who this witch is or what she might want. I... I mean, for the Hols, obviously.”

 

Connie let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, you know more about it than you think you do, sweetheart.” She turned her attention to Severus. “Don’t you dare glower at me like I’m a misbehaving third year. Professor Granger has just volunteered to help you shop. I think that is very generous of her.”

 

Hermione hadn’t said any such thing, but before Snape could put his foot into his mouth, McGonagall said, “You can switch patrols with Fitch-Fletchly and make it up to him on Sunday, Severus.”

 

Severus remained speechless too long, so Hermione’s instincts kicked in. “I can meet you after breakfast, around Nine when the shops are opening. If we get it over in the morning there won’t be so many shoppers, see?” The embarrassment was fading and in its place appeared  the avid sparkle that shone whenever Professor Granger was faced with a problem that she knew she could solve.

 

Trapped, Severus was left with few alternatives. “That would be … acceptable.” Behind Hermione, Minerva mouthed something and automatically he amended his response with, “Thank you.”  

 

Professor Granger sprung up, “More cake, anyone?” One would have thought that she was five again and Christmas had come early. Waves of excitement radiated off of her as she buzzed about.

 

Minerva demurred, but Connie said, “Oh, I’ll have another, and don’t forget Severus over there. He cleaned his plate! I’ve never seen a piece of cake go so quickly.”

 

After watching the amusing proceedings a little longer, Minerva turned her attention back to the rest of the staff. They had disappeared en masse, sensibly scurrying off to anywhere but here, responding to the storm clouds brewing in Snape’s corner of the staffroom. McGonagall dragged Professor Rolle in all of her interfering glory away from the scene before Severus could hex her properly. She used the pretense of discussing that horrendously lewd holiday jumper. Looks might kill considering the personal power of the wizard in question, and Minerva had no doubt whatsoever that Severus was exhibiting extraordinary degrees of self control, it was best to remove the source of his ire post haste.

 

Severus Snape was left to extricate himself from the verbal barrage of an enthusiastic Hermione Granger in full swing of delivering a well-organised dissertation on holiday shopping tactics and preparedness.


	2. Now Sing With Hearts Aglow

By the time Nine AM the next morning came around, Hermione already sketched out and revised a basic plan of attack for Professor Snape and his problem of finding a gift for his mysterious witch. Hermione now stood waiting in the Entrance Hall, her fingers drumming against the clipboard in her hand. Her chart included color coded Hogsmeade shops, ordered by priority, depending on the disposition of the witch in question, a point that she realised she had done a poor job reconnoitering from the source the night before. She blushed, recalling herself nattering on at him about her own experiences shopping for people she wanted to impress. She was too caught up to wring very necessary details out of him, although she very much doubted that he would have said anything in front of Rolle. Again she felt a keen pang of sympathy for what must have been an uncomfortable situation to the usually private man.

 

Professor Snape was especially closemouthed when Hermione requested mission-critical intelligence. She needed basic demographics such as age, background, interests and style, and his answer was unsatisfying: “She’s an adult witch, nothing too far out of the common way who enjoys many things and isn’t overtly garish.” Hermione took this to mean that at the least she was English and probably magical, but that wasn’t much to go on.

 

Not satisfied with this answer, she tracked down Conrad Rolle at breakfast. Rolle was infuriatingly vague as well, citing confidentiality and discretion. Hermione resented the lack of detail, as Rolle was normally an incorrigible gossip who had no qualms about spilling everyone’s embarrassing secrets. If it weren’t for the possibility of doing Professor Snape a good turn, she might have quit right then in protest. Instead, she turned her considerable intellect to the problem and came up with a plan.

 

Professor Snape was an enigma to her on many levels. Sure, she had examined all of the evidence she was permitted surrounding his work for the Order of the Phoenix and testified for him during the postwar inquiries set by the Ministry of Magic. She had visited him at St Mungo’s as he recovered there, and helped maintain a wholly necessary watch around the clock before he regained sufficient use of his faculties. In spite of all of that, she felt as though she were being held at arm’s length. She was intrigued by him and more so because she felt a connection with him that she couldn’t quite put into words.

 

The problem with Severus Snape was that he was a personality that had spent the past two decades eclipsed by the persona of Snape the Death Eater. Subterfuge was a habit. The public’s skepticism regarding his innocence in spite of the very public legal proceedings resulting in his exoneration had only encouraged his withdrawal from general society. Many still believed that he had been more than merely acting, and that the subsequent award of a Order of Merlin First Class was an offense to the memory of Albus Dumbledore.  

 

Hermione knew better from first hand experience. She witnessed him trying to stretch beyond the hard boundaries he once rigidly adhered to. Small kindnesses flowed from the formerly cold Headmaster, if one cared to notice. He changed physically too, no longer looking like a starving, pissed off alley-cat. Hermione even caught him making a joke once, and it was made four times as funny to her because it was obvious that she was the only person at the table who got it. Watching him was like watching a flower slowly unfolding, allowing its inner secret marvels to finally be visible to the world. If he was a flower, he was to be approached with caution, for he hadn’t forgotten that he was carnivorous.

 

Truth be told, she was rather anxious and she was certain that it showed rather badly. Chewing her bottom lip, she looked down at her planner and was fighting the impulse to scrap the whole thing and start from scratch when the object of her project appeared at her side. Students took a wide berth around them, and Hermione, anxious to get going bulldozed over whatever Professor Snape had been about to say. “Right, let’s get a leg on, sir. Won’t do to dawdle.”

 

Snape, instead of rebuking her appeared to be bemused as he caught up with her in the snow covered courtyard. “Is that a chart?” He sounded rather appalled, although Hermione could tell that he had made an effort at moderating his tone.

 

Sneaking a glance up at the man, she flashed a confident smile. “Of course it is. That’s what I promised, now isn’t it? Maybe I should have you fill out a survey at the end. Perhaps if teaching falls through I could do this instead.”

 

Professor Snape sunk his hands deeper into his pockets and kept pace with her easily, something that many of her friends found onerous.

 

Taking the silence for general agreement, she forged onward. “I thought we should start in Hogsmeade.” A thought occurred to her, “Unless you’ve already been here and need to go farther afield?” Her steps slowed at this unanticipated snag.

 

Eyebrow raised he answered, “Whatever gave you that idea?”

 

Cheeks flushing, Hermione brushed that aside and continued on. “Have you done any preparation for today?”

A jingle from the wizard’s pocket was a partial answer. “I brought money.” His expression was nonchalant, almost impassive. He was resigned to the fact that nothing short of a charging erumpent was going to dislodge Professor Granger when she had gotten her teeth into a problem.

 

Brightening, Hermione said, “Ah. You have set a budget, then? Very wise, sir. Now, I don’t mean to be nosy, but it would help to know...” She cut off as she saw Professor Snape’s scowl and clarified mulishly, “It might eliminate certain venues.”

 

One long-fingered, elegant hand came up to brush back the hair that had fallen into his face. Since he had gotten the most recent trim, he hadn’t been able to keep his hair out of his way, and Hermione noticed that his hair was returning to its former length rapidly. Potions were probably involved. She couldn’t decide if she preferred it shorter, or the more comfortable longer length. “I decline to divulge the depth of my pockets or the size of my vault, Granger. Kindly assume that I most likely will be able to afford most reasonable selections and I will let you know if we are beyond the limits.”

 

Reflexively, she corrected him. “Hermione.” Looking straight ahead, she was doing the maths of the distance they had yet to walk and the number of topics she needed to cover before they made it into town. The gates were in sight now, at least.

 

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” He looked down at her with narrowed eyes and Hermione felt a bit like the bushy-haired girl with abnormally large buckteeth in the hallway once mocked, and knew that he was having a go at her.

 

She huffed, showing exactly what she thought of his tiresome witticism. “Yes, I rather thought you had forgot. Use it. I prefer it vastly over Granger, Miss Granger, Miss Know it All, Insufferable Know it All, and all iterations thereon. Kindly dispense with all references to my membership in the golden trio and my standing with the Weasley family while you are at it.” She added, “And Professor Granger is not appropriate for an outing such as this,” and she softened, a bit ashamed of her outburst, rounding it off with, “And it feels strange being called Professor by you, sir.”

 

Professor Snape had paused beside her as she had stopped walking to make her point. After enough of a pause for Hermione’s breathing to calm down, he answered, “Only if you call me Severus. I confess it is difficult to break old habits, but if you are willing to make the effort, so will I.”

 

Hermione loosened her scarf, feeling her cheeks heat back up. She felt must be a rather cheerful shade of puce, but she started walking again. “Thank you, Severus. That would be appreciated.“ They passed through the gates in a rare moment of quietude.  

 

* * *

 

Severus berated himself for getting carried away. He enjoyed an exchange of wits, but with Hermione he always managed to trod on her nerves. For a no-nonsense sort of person, she had a lot of sensitivities, although far be it from him to poke at the holes in her armor. Well, unless she started it.  

 

He had no idea of what to get his ‘lady’ friend and it wasn’t the first time that he cursed Conrad Rolle that year. The man was a one-wizard plague, visited down on the school as a reappointment after the war.

 

It wasn’t Connie’s gender fluidity that bothered him, it was the sheer nosiness and talent for sniffing out gossip that annoyed Severus. Well, that paired with a positively Gryffindor tendency to meddle where wise men know better than to mither. It was Connie’s fault that he was out on this forsaken errand and completely at the mercy of Hermione Granger. He wondered years ago what the hat had thought it was doing when it placed a young Miss Granger in Gryffindor, as she seemed much more suited to Ravenclaw. She had the more-widely-read-than-thou attitude from day two. He fancied that she had taken at least a day to measure up the faculty and her competition before she started lording it over her fellow students.

 

She was a walking encyclopedia of lore and was prone to block quoting the textbooks rather than rephrasing in her own words in class. That parroting irritated him as a teacher, the girl seemed determined not to think about the material, to take that step past competence towards brilliance. Now it was her tendency to take ownership of every problem that walked past that irked him. Specifically, finding a Christmas Present for his nonexistent girlfriend.

 

Sure, he had a few tumbles in the dating scene over the years, but none of the flings seemed to work out longer than a few weeks. It was nearly impossible to sort through the social assault, for he was often approached by witches who were chiefly interested in his notoriety, the fame, and the tragic past that Potter had so thoughtfully broadcast to the Wizarding World at large. He was accustomed to holding himself apart, and to being treated worse than dirt on the bottom of one’s boot. The change in his status and public image nearly drove him into hermitage for good.

 

His own reticence to allow anyone too near spoiled the one promising courtship he had since the war. Unwilling to wait around for Severus to put himself together, Moira had gone on to have an affair with a foreign magical Ambassador from Peru. Severus hadn’t been in love with the witch, he knew that. What he had known was that Moira was the kind of witch that he might be happy with. She was smart, independent, and knew what she wanted. She wasn’t put off by his gloomy looks and biting rhetoric, often laughing at him when he thoroughly deserved it. No other witch had dared to mock him or laugh so loudly in his presence, as though he were a walking hazard. He had thought he was hopeless before the war, but now he was certain of it. Bachelorhood was his fate, and it was comfortable.

 

What was yet another Christmas, alone? He looked down and found himself the target of an intense frown of disapproval. He didn’t think he had missed her saying anything, so he answered whatever unspoken question that hovered at the tip of her tongue with a vague, “What?”

 

“You know, this would be a lot easier if I knew something of your lady.”

 

Having no intention of identifying the object of his admiration, he settled on a truthful response, “She isn’t my lady. More someone I admire. Rolle was interfering. I regret that you were dragged into this,” he paused before rolling the name around in his mouth, “Hermione.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione’s mind was picking at something, an idea that was in the back of her brain, lingering just out of view. She found it distracting and was determined not to step beyond the bounds of friendship and propriety. Severus Snape was his own worst enemy, and seemed happy with the situation for some reason. While his intellect and magical abilities far outstripped that of any callow youth, his social graces seemed stuck somewhere around that of a fourth year’s.

 

While she was no Connie Rolle, the possibility of Severus Snape finding love filled Hermione’s heart with butterflies. She didn’t want to be nosy, but she was dead curious, a rather dangerous state for a Gryffindor around the Potions Master.

 

First she needed to forge a connection, a starting point with the Professor. Then, perhaps he would unbend enough to at least give her something to work with. She realised they were walking along in silence and she chided herself. She wasn’t keeping up her end of the conversation but neither was he. She looked up at him, really looked. He looked tired. He wore a scarf about his neck, hiding the scars, but she thought the lines on his face suggested he was pained. She had stared too long, and he looked down at her. “What?”

 

Hermione berated herself internally. She was here for a specific purpose, she might as well ask directly. “You know, this would be a lot easier if I knew something of your.. Lady.”

 

Snape’s brow pinched but he answered, “She isn’t my lady.” He looked away from Hermione and continued to walk towards Hogsmeade, their path leading down a hill now. “She is more someone I admire.”

 

Her heartbeat quickened with excitement. That was news. Connie was right, he did need her help.

 

“Rolle was interfering. I regret that you were dragged into this,” he paused before rumbling out her name, as if he were tasting every syllable for the first time, “Hermione.”

 

A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine and she was rather glad of the cold as an excuse for the flush in her cheeks. She hugged the clipboard to her chest as she walked on. He had never called her by her first name, and she felt rather naughty for using his first name earlier. She told herself she was being silly and yanked her mind back on task, although it seemed determined to scramble away and was resisting all the while. “Well, there must be something you know about her that will help us.”

 

Silence was her answer. He was going to make this as difficult as possible, was he? The path under their feet transitioned abruptly from dirt track to cobblestone and Hermione feasted her eyes on the little town bustling with Saturday morning custom. Not waiting for an answer, she walked towards the first of the shops with purpose.

 

* * *

 

Severus was finding it rather hard not to laugh as Hermione Granger led him to the little bookstore in town straight off. She held the door open and as she had gotten a few steps ahead of him, she looked back at him with what he fancied was a rather mulish expression. “I had an order I was checking on. This isn’t a bad place to start.”

 

As they both stepped into the dusty warmth of Tomes and Scrolls, he paused just inside the door, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the soft candlelight. Hermione’s voice floated back to him, “Why don’t you have a browse while you wait for me.”

 

A bibliophile himself, Severus had already thoroughly canvassed the shelves of this particular shop, it being so close to the school. He cast a furtive glance at the potions section, marking that one of the battered copies of “Ars Metallum” had been pulled, perhaps sold, and that the “Compendium of Cosmetic Concoctions” had been misshelved. He hated that book, as it was the source of one or another disasters in his Potions labs on what seemed like a weekly basis. As much as having it out of place irritated him, he was not moved to correct the problem.

 

The owner of the shop, one Thaddeus Bastion, was going rather deaf in his dotage and Severus could not help but overhear him at the counter. “No, it didn’t come in, I am afraid, my dear. But we do have a copy of _Völuspá_ that I think you will find of interest. It is a new translation.”

 

Severus’ eye was fascinated by the sight of a spot of light reflected onto the case next to him, and as it bobbed up and down, he realized that it was reflected off of the shopkeeper’s own bald head. “Of course, I’ll wrap it up. Now, if you’ll write down the name of the book you want me to look for I can see what my contacts might do. Have you tried the shops up in London yet, my dear?”

 

Hermione must have turned away from the counter because now he could hear her reply, “No luck yet. Well, soldier on. I’ll just have a walk about.”

 

Something made Severus want to know what book it was that Hermione was searching for. A book search was a more pleasant use of time, perhaps if he.. The thought was cut off by Hermione’s voice. “So, is she interested in Potions, then?”

 

Feeling like he was caught cheating, Severus let out a nervous chuckle. “Not especially more than any other witch of my acquaintance.” Although he recalled that Hermione was at least capable of reading and following directions. He cursed Rolle to the blackest ring of hell for the ninth time in the past hour as Hermione latched onto his wrist and towed him over to another section. He had no idea what she was up to, so when she pulled out three volumes all from separate shelves he was unprepared for what came next.

 

“Look at these three and see which one you think might best suit the object of your… admiration, I suppose is what you must call it. Affection would suggest the presence of a concrete relationship.” The volumes were pressed into his yielding hands and he was left to stare at the covers as Hermione turned away from him. This was it? Did she buy books for everyone she knew, and that was why she was done so bloody early?

 

He was about to lose his composure at the very idea when his brain finally attended to the titles of the books. One was a volume of romantic drivel about the language of flowers. The second was an anthology of short stories, comedies poisoned with the threat of moral lessons driven home. The third and thinnest volume made his nose hairs curl. It was a book of rather risque erotic poetry, one with which he was only passingly familiar.  He probably had four copies sitting back in his office, plunder from confiscations made over the years.

 

He tore his eyes away from the selections and was shocked to see that he was being observed. Hermione reached over and plucked the selections out of his hands and sent them back to their shelves. Was she smirking at him? “Mysterious cyphers, feel-good giggles, or naughty poetry, sir?”

 

Caught out, Severus temporized. “She seems to read rather widely. Any of those three might amuse her.”

 

Hermione sniffed in derision. “There are so many things wrong with that statement, I’m not sure where to begin.” Severus found himself locked in a gaze with her as she elaborated. “First, nobody really wants books as a gift. I don’t feel that way, but it is a universal truth that a single witch possessed of pleasant manners and good looks is never in want of a book. They make you squint. Or so I am told.”

 

She held out her fingers and ticked off on the second, making Severus suspect that she had composed the speech ahead of time. “Second, those three volumes should say very different things about the nature of your admiration. That you can’t decide is rather telling, sir.”

 

Severus stiffened under the criticism being leveled at him, “And my third point, is that the purpose of this gift should not be to merely provide base amusement. Whatever you pick needs to be meaningful and thoughtful. It should be something that fits you and pulls her out of her boundaries.” He was shocked to see Hermione smile up at him after that bold dressing down, “Entice her to want to know you better.”

 

Clearing his throat, he quipped, “I don’t think either of us ready for bold statements of ardor, Hermione. Be reasonable.” A faint whine crept into his voice and he winced inwardly. Rolle, when I get my hands on your skinny neck I’m going to choke you!

 

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and frowned up at him. “It should not be as direct as a commitment ring. I agree that would be a mistake at such an early date, even if you felt that strongly.” She shifted her weight and then put her hands on her hips. This is what it must have been like for Potter all of those years. “You mistake my meaning. What I mean to say is that simple gestures can have a huge effect. Nuance is everything when it comes to romance.”

 

Exerting self-control and resisting the impulse to request Hermione’s romantic credentials complete with letters of reference, Snape asked the question that hung in the air between them. “Why are we in a bookstore if books are not acceptable?”

 

The insufferable witch rolled her eyes, “Because I needed to check on an order. I’ll just collect my book and we can be on our way.”  

 

Seething silently, Severus turned back to the bookshelf beside him and considered his position. One finger trailed along the spines of the books there. He came to a conclusion, right then and there. He was not an innocent ingenue. He fought in the war, survived the machinations of two of the most powerful wizards history has ever known. He could do this. He had faced death. What was a little witch to that? Hermione thought she understood romance? Well, he would hear her out but he was certain that he would know what to do when the moment came. The witch won’t know what hit her, should he decide to act.

 

* * *

 

Hermione watched Snape covertly from the counter. She knew she had pushed him rather hard, but he needed to understand that she was serious about helping him. She was fascinated by the sight of him gently pulling one finger over the spines of the books. A sympathetic thrill ran down her neck for the second time today. She turned away, scowling.

 

How did she end up with this task again? Rolle. It occurred to her that Rolle might have been a better choice for shopping guide. The man was older, and was well versed in romantic ploys. He delighted in this kind of thing.  Didn’t he know that she was on the level of “Crazy Cat Lady” in her experience with love? Her brief affair with Viktor Krum had not renewed while she was studying in Europe, although he had visited with her. She followed in the papers as the wedding of the decade was reported as well as the birth of several children. He always seemed so intense, so serious, so it was a revelation to see him engaged in a game of peekaboo in that year’s Christmas card with his wife lovingly looking on, her belly already ripening with what turned out to be twin girls.

 

Her relationship with Ron Weasley didn’t survive her commitment to study abroad. She would always love Ron. He was a good man, as direct as they came. They argued too much, and she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t meant to work out between them. Ron’s confidence was always a major issue, and it seemed like he had even less when he was around her. Luna Lovegood had struck straight at the heart of the issue one night when they were out at the pub. “Just like certain plants won’t thrive in the shade, Ronald lessens in your shadow, Hermione. You aren’t doing a single thing wrong. He’s a sunflower that craves exposure to the open sky.”

 

It didn’t make it any easier to leave him. He had been there for eight years. They hadn’t always gotten along, but he was there for her, and Hermione wondered that if she hadn’t gone to Durmstrang, what might have happened. But, done was done. It was still hard to see him nowadays. She still loved him, or at least felt affection for him and she did her best to not make things more painful for either of them.

 

In general she need not worry, as Ron had taken to avoiding her completely. Ginny whispered that she shouldn’t pay too much attention to his sulking, that Ron was an idiot and that would never change. It really hurt when he managed to disappear whenever Hermione entered a room and she was certain that he didn’t really need to work at the Joke Shop every Sunday that Hermione happened to be joining the family at the Burrow for dinner. George mentioned that Ron had met a girl, a witch who was younger and that this time things were going rather well. The news was a relief, but somewhere in her heart, she felt a door close, locked away against all possible futures.

 

Things were harder for her with Harry too. He did try to stay in touch, but he was terrible at writing letters and he was very busy with his career as an Auror, his unwanted celebrity life, and his growing family with Ginny. Hermione felt like she had lost both of her best friends. Visits to the Burrow were often cringeworthy, as Mrs Weasley seemed to want to offer up one of her other sons as a possible match. George was busy with the shop and had withdrawn in his private grief, and Charlie was obviously gay.  Bill and Percy were already happily married. No, Hermione would never be a Weasley.

 

She was fogged a state of distraction when she gathered up her package and turned to collect her charge, preparing to usher him on to their next stop. She was surprised to find Snape standing near the doorway, holding the door open for her. Her brain was so crowded with plans that she missed Severus' speculative glance as she stepped past him, back out into the sunlit streets of Hogsmeade.


	3. Our Delight and Pleasure Lies in Praesepio

Hermione led them onwards to Madam Puddifoot’s next, and Severus stopped five feet from the front door. “What are we doing here? Surely I’ve suffered enough lace and sloppy snogging to last a lifetime as it is?” His voice was pained.

 

Smiling up at the dour man, Hermione’s enthusiasm surfaced. “Oh, the best gifts are the ones that can be consumed in under an hour, so I thought of tea.” When Snape did not immediately respond, she added, “We aren’t going to stay long. We’re not to even get a table. I thought we could try some teas at the bar and see if any of her specialteas would work for you.”

 

Jaw clamped tight against any number of biting replies, Snape slouched forward and opened the door for Hermione, waiting for her to enter before steeling himself to step inside. He had to stoop to get through the door, and he supposed sourly that the low ceiling added to the ‘cozy’ atmosphere. He found it positively oppressive.

 

* * *

 

A quarter of an hour later, Hermione hastily thanked the shop girl for her time and went after Snape, who had cleared his throat and excused himself. She had picked out a few selections that she thought would be likely for most feminine tastes, and determined that the Professor held a great deal of disdain for any tea that was corrupted by the addition of fruits or spices. She heard him grumble, “Ploy to pawn off substandard varietals” after the first volley of selections were brought out for his perusal and it had only gone downhill from there.

 

Leaving the shop door to thud closed behind her with a tinkle, Hermione looked up and down the street and was relieved to see Snape kipped up against the wall a little ways down the row. He had his hand sheltered around his mouth and Hermione was horrified as that hand fell away, revealing a lit cigarette clamped between his lips. Statistics regarding the risks of oral cancer and throat cancer danced in her head, courtesy of her parent’s office and its educational posters meant to enlighten as you waited. She personally found them horrifying.

 

He had not noticed her yet, or he was feigning ignorance of her presence so she took a moment to consider their next move. A glance at the clock tower in the town square showed her that it was only a few minutes until noon. Consulting her clipboard she marked that they were on schedule, although she had hoped to have made more progress. They could continue on to Scrivenshaft's or break for refreshment.

 

Hermione considered the man, noticing the tense line of his shoulders, and the shuttered expression on his face as he puffed away. She much prefered the openness she saw briefly last night over a slice of her rum cake. Even the cocky smirk he wore when getting the best of her would be better than this. Now he appeared to have regressed to the Snape that she had always known, and regret washed over her, sapping her nerve.

 

What could she do to put Professor Snape at his ease, to wipe clean the slate of the morning? He deserved some joy, happiness in his life. He was a ruddy hero, and Hermione felt a sort of kinship with him, and more than that, a fierce kind of loyalty. Of course her own war experiences were nothing to what he must have endured, what he was forced to do in the name of the cause, but she did feel she understood him better than even Ron or Harry. They were easy to love. Sucking in a fortifying breath of crisp November air, Hermione marched up the street.

 

* * *

 

Severus felt his frayed nerves begin to unwind as soon as he stepped out of the awful tea shop. His occlumentic shields had been bombarded with the emotions that permeated the air in that place, and it made him itch.  The saccharine tone with which the witch behind the counter had cooed at them made him want to bite her head off and spit it out. Wasn’t there a muggle rockstar that had done that to a bat on stage? Sick fuck, the poor thing didn’t deserve it, but the saleswitch knew exactly what she was doing and he was sure that given the right jury he would be acquitted. Well, if it had been his first offense and he wasn’t already on probation for life, that is.

 

He pulled out his pack of Parliaments and put one to his lips. Using his wand to light it, he breathed in the heady smoke, finding comfort in the scent. He relaxed against the wall, waiting for Hermione to track him down. He wasn’t proud of his having beaten a hasty retreat, but honestly it was more than he cared to stand. He could buy tea somewhere else, or blend his own. He didn’t need to suffer this out.   

 

As Hermione approached, he was determined to not look at her. He wanted to finish his fag before facing whatever she had planned for them next. It struck him that he could at any time tell Hermione that he had found the gift thanks to her, and release her from the obligation. No, that was no good. She’d spot his lie in a trice and he’d be worse off for it. Damn you, Rolle. I hope your mascara runs.

 

The footsteps came to a halt and Hermione chirped brightly at him, “Well, I daresay that wasn’t it.”

 

Severus blew smoke upwards and away from his companion, before looking down at her. She looked so earnest, it was all he could do not to stamp all over her just to get on to something he felt more comfortable handling. A towering rage would have been better, or a tirade on the abuses visited on House Elves, Trolls, and Werewolves.  Of course, it was the same goody-two-shoes attitude that had her applying her talents to his non-problem. Rolle’s fault, that insufferable interfering hag.  

 

Too much time had passed without a verbal response from him, so Hermione forged on. “I think we need to get into the Holiday Spirit.”

 

Severus tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow at his former student. “And how...” he puffed again, “do you propose,” he breathed out the rest of the smoke before continuing, “we do that.” He should have been terrified when the witch’s face spread into a wide grin. It affected him in all of the exceedingly wrong ways.

 

“There’s a fundraiser at the Three Broomsticks today. They’ve hot spiced cider, and mulled wine.” She bounced on her toes and went on, “They’ve some sort of pumpkin juice based cocktail as well, but honestly I never understood why the Wizarding World is so obsessed with the stuff. Its positively vile, and awful for the teeth.”

 

He noticed that her eyes had strayed to the fag in his hand, and Severus could not help but smirk as he took the last drag and extinguished the butt on the brick behind him. Wordlessly he vanished the evidence as he pushed away from the wall. This time he puffed out a series of smoke rings that floated away. Hermione was watching them, mesmerized. On a whim, he struck off down the pavement back towards the town square, lengthening his stride and calling, “Look lively, Hermione. Last one in pays!”  

 

* * *

 

Hermione was breathing hard as she hit the door to the Three Broomsticks and swung it open, and couldn’t keep the skip out of her step as she claimed a spot at the bar. “I’ll have the cider, Madam Rosmerta. Snape’s paying.”

 

A moment later she felt the shadow of the tall wizard in question darken her spot and she turned slightly to grin up at him. She was taken aback as Snape… no _Severus_ nodded to the pretty witch behind the bar and said, “I hear you have mulled wine, I’ll try that.” Rosmerta answered him with a blinding smile before turning away, and Hermione’s brain started to work. Was it Rosmerta that Severus admired so much? She studied him. He looked much more relaxed, but he hadn’t smiled back at the woman. Was that a bit of swagger?

 

Behind them a pair of wizards were set next to the fire, one idly picking out a winding tune on a guitar while the other fussed with his music. Casting a sonorous, the man said, “Thanks for coming out folks. We’re Paul and Squall, and we’re doing a benefit for the Orphan’s of the War fund. If you like our music, please chip in a bit so the kids can have a brighter Christmas.”

 

Madam Rosmerta spoke up from behind the bar, adding, “Proceeds from the drinks sold for the next hour will go to the fund, gentlefolk. Thanks for your generosity.”

 

Hermione found a steaming mug full of cider had been placed at her elbow as she was listening. Gathering it into her hands she greedily soaked in the warmth of the stoneware. Lifting it to her lips, she tested and found it too hot to consume safely just yet.

 

She glanced over at her companion and on impulse pulled a tissue out of her pocket, setting the mug down. Concentrating, she used her wand and transfigured the flat surface, guiding it to fold itself into the shape of a sprig of Holly. It wasn’t the most expert transfiguration, and she knew that if it became wet it would fall apart, but it was just what was called for.

 

Behind them, Squall belied his name as he sang the opening lines to The Wexford Carol, Paul plucking out a spare supporting succession of chords. The wizard’s voice was true and clear, unhurried.

 

Hermione beckoned to Severus, as though she wanted to talk without alerting the whole pub. His eyebrows lifted in askance, but she shook her head slightly, and beckoned again. As he leaned close enough, Hermione said, “You always look the part of a storm cloud.” Successfully distracting him just long enough, she tucked the holly into where she imagined a buttonhole should have been on his overcoat, and fixed it there with a sticking charm, not having a pin on her.

 

She couldn’t help but laugh as Severus looked cross eyed down at himself, trying to get a better look at what she had done. A noncommittal, “Mhmm” was his response and Hermione lifted her mug to her lips as a screen, hoping that he hadn’t heard her giggle.

 

She calmed right down as Rosmerta sailed past, calling out in a flirty tone, “Looking sharp, Severus.” The witch hadn’t stopped for his response, but Hermione was intrigued to see the wizard blushing. If Conrad Rolle were here, he’d have winkled whatever there was to know was out of Severus. Then again, if Rolle were here, Hermione was fairly certain that Severus would be somewhere else.

 

“Knut for your thoughts?” He was speaking to her now, still close enough that they didn’t need to raise their voices over the music to be heard.

 

Hermione’s mind scrabbled about, looking for a safe response and she settled on, “Just trying to decode your cipher. Translate your runes. Discover how to help you with this witch.” She looked furtively over at Rosmerta before saying, “Does she like music?”

 

A shoulder lift preceded his neutral response. “Tolerably well I suppose. I don’t think she has a passion for it.” Hermione bit her lip and took a drink. Her tummy warmed right up, making her wonder what Rosmerta had done to the cider. She had assumed that it wasn’t boozed up too much, but she might have been wrong.

 

Spreading one hand in exasperation, Hermione said, “Severus, you have to help me out here. Otherwise you might as well go buy a pair of socks or gloves and call it a day.”

 

The blush had faded from Severus’ face but it flared up again. The wine must be rather well fortified too, Hermione thought as she watched him work his jaw in indecision. As if divulging the answer to a deeply complicated Arithmancy problem, he pronounced in his low drawl, “All Three.”

 

Feeling as though she had missed something, Hermione stared up at him, her mind blank. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

“All three books. I didn’t pick one of them because I do not have only idealized romantic feelings for this... Witch. I find her intellectually interesting.” he cleared his throat and said quietly, “And she’s sexy in an unconscious sort of way, I can’t really put it to words.”

 

Hermione blushed. Didn’t the wizard understand the power of his voice? Then she caught Rosmerta watching Severus covertly as he answered, and Hermione wrenched her mind away from that particular line of thought. She retreated behind her mug again, and was surprised to find it already almost empty.

 

Fixing her nerves to the sticking point, Hermione said, “I find it difficult to believe that Severus Snape is having problems wooing any witch, or wizard for that matter.” At the man’s snort, she hastened to elaborate, “No, really. This isn’t about anything more complicated than your own confidence, Severus. Any witch that you find so globally attractive is likely to be compatible with you as well and she deserves the chance at happiness too.”  She was relieved when Rosmerta set a second mug next to her empty and as she took it up, she looked directly up at Snape. “You deserve to be happy, Severus. Let me help you.”

 

* * *

 

It had been a perfect moment, one that might serve to produce a strong corporeal Patronus. Hermione, the lovely young witch who had occupied his thoughts since she returned to Hogwarts, believed that he was worthy. She wanted to see him happy. The mulled wine had nothing to do with the heady euphoria that he had experienced for a brief, fleeting moment in time. And then it all went to shit.

 

Later, statements made to the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol all agreed that Severus Snape acted in self defense when the dust settled. A gorilla of a man had taken Snape by surprise, and landed one good punch before Severus had gone into action. No one was seriously hurt, several arrests were made and Severus Snape, war hero and Death Eater, was kept in the town lock up ‘for his own safety’ overnight.

 

Hermione Granger’s statement, only begrudgingly received by the bored patrolwitch at the station's front desk, seethed with indignity at the trials that her coworker suffered, which she rightly attributed long-held grudges for both Snape the severe Potions Master as well as Snape the Deatheater scum. She further leveled scathing criticism of the terms of the probation he was expected to serve for life. That she would be personally complaining to the Minister of Magic as publicly as possible was a given. That it would do Severus no good was also, alas, the hard reality. Feeling robbed, Hermione returned to the school and applied herself immediately to the Headmistress. She had connections in Law Enforcement, perhaps she could do something! 


	4. Like Sunshine Is Our Treasure, Matris En Gremio

Connie Rolle sat back in her chair in the Great Hall, steepling perfectly manicured fingertips in front of her as she considered an arithmantic cypher written out on a scrap of parchment over the ruins of a hearty breakfast. She had been so certain that the vectors bode favorably for her little scheme. She had attempted to control for the man’s reputation and extensive list of enemies, but still the operation was a bust. She murmured to the air, “Never give in. Never, never, never, never… “ The vehemence drained from her tone as she spied a mop of curly hairs, possessed of a witch appear in the doorway. 

 

Hermione Granger dragged herself in, and plopped down next to Rolle. The poor thing looked worse than a wilted leaf of lettuce. 

 

Connie clapped her hands once, “Oh now, this will simply not do.” Hermione didn’t respond as she reached for a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet, but she did jump as Connie reached out and whacked her on the hand smartly. “Breakfast first, sweetie. Don’t make yourself sick, he wouldn’t thank you for it.” 

 

Hermione straightened, “Is he back yet?” That was a little better, at least a spark of life was present in those worry-dulled brown eyes. 

 

“No, not yet. I believe Minerva was instructed to collect him at noon.” Connie started to pile Hermione’s plate with food as she protested weakly, “Oh, only a cup of tea please. I am not hungry.” 

 

Tutting, Connie replied, “Nonsense. You’re just in shock, dear. Do you want to talk about it?”  She pressed a spoon into Hermione’s hand. “There, now.” 

 

Answering with a shake of her head, Hermione put the spoon down and reached for the pot of tea. Alarmed by the tremor in her colleague’s hands, Connie stood and again batted Hermione’s hand away, pouring the tea herself. She started to laugh. “Look at me. A wizard for over seventy years, and I still forget to use magic to pour the tea. Silly of me, but here I am.” 

 

The corner of Hermione’s mouth tugged up, “I forget too. Magic seems too grand to use for everyday tasks, but I am amazed every time I think of what Molly Weasley can accomplish. I suppose I suffer from ingrained habit, or maybe put more accurately, a failure of imagination.” Her hand was more steady as she picked up her cup to drink.

 

Brushing imaginary crumbs off of her lilac robes, Connie sat back down and relaxed in her chair, considering Hermione Granger’s countenance. “So, did Severus buy anything?” 

 

Hermione’s face crumpled, “No. We only had been to two shops and the Three B’s before…” She paused, and then went on, “Well, if you demand absolute accuracy, he was to have bought me a mug of cider. Two, actually.” 

 

Connie suppressed a squeal of delight, not wanting to tip off the girl. “And.. did Severus give you any hints about the object of his affections? Qualities? Hobbies? A name?”

 

Hermione shook her head as she took a bite of dry toast, a faraway look in her eyes. Connie could tell there was something going on in there so she waited, sipping her tea quietly. 

 

“He.. sounds like he is really taken with this witch. He chose all three.” 

 

Connie mooed in frustration. “Hermione, dear. I’m an Arithmancer not a Legilimens. You are going to have to give me more than that to work with.” 

 

Flushing a deep scarlet, Hermione dropped her eyes. “I challenged him to pick a book out of three that he thought was best for this witch. One was humorous, one a romantic guide to the language of flowers, and the third was a book of erotic poetry.” 

 

“Well, that was a good idea. All three you say?” Connie watched Hermione closely.

 

She sighed before continuing, “At the store, we argued about it because he wasn’t willing to choose, so I criticised him for indecisiveness and lack of romantic nuance.” Hermione’s sad eyes searched out Connie’s and she continued,  “I thought that the topic was closed, but then just before the bar fight started…” Hermione sniffed, interrupting the flow of information. 

 

Connie found herself sitting on the edge of her seat, “Yes?” 

 

“He said that he didn’t choose just one because he had all of the types of feelings for her. He wanted the companionship of her mind in addition to experiencing romantic and physical attraction as well.” Hermione leaned over to Connie and whispered. “He’s scared that he will frighten her off.” 

 

Drawing out her words with an edge of teasing, Connie crowed, “Well, I am impressed, Hermione. You progressed a lot farther with this project than I ever could.” Connie reached out with her perfectly manicured fingers, and patted Hermione on the shoulder. 

 

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Really?” 

 

Connie nodded and gave her a side smile, one co-conspirator to another. “Did anything else happen?” 

 

Hands fisting in tension, Hermione went on, “Well, I told him that if the witch was really so globally compatible, that he had every reason to pursue her, and that all he lacked was confidence.” She added as an afterthought, “And then I told him he deserved to be happy and that I would help him.” She moaned, “Annnnd that’s when the jerk sucker-punched him out of nowhere.” Hermione dropped her head in her hands. “It all happened so fast!” 

 

Scooting her chair closer, Connie put her arm around her mentee. “It will be alright.” After a quick squeeze, Connie cajoled. “So! Is Severus Snape still fantastic in battle?” The tone that she used could have easily closed that statement with ‘bed.’

 

Blinking away what Connie trusted were tears of frustration, Hermione brightened. “Oh, he was incredible. His wand work was impeccable, and when it was clear that the villainous cretin had more than one person ready to step in as back-up he disapparated out into the street, right in front of the MLEP station.” 

 

“Go on. I crave details, my dear.” Connie rather liked the look of admiration on her companion’s face. Yes, she needed this as badly as Severus did.

 

Wringing her hands, Hermione said, “Well, Severus caught the guy’s fist on the second blow and did something with his knee. The jerk didn’t expect magic at that moment, so the look on his face when his legs wouldn’t work was priceless.” She giggled, “Then he started to sprout holly sprigs from his ears. It looked festively uncomfortable.”   

 

Connie covered her mouth, her eyes laughing. “Oh my. Did you catch the incantation for that one?” 

 

Shaking her head to the negative, Hermione went on, “And then there was a second man who tried to grab Professor Snape from behind, but just as he touched Severus’ coat he was flung upwards and stuck to the ceiling. When he opened his mouth, he started to sing Jingle Bells. The musicians didn’t seem to appreciate that.” Hermione sighed, her eyes sparkling. “Professor Snape was just getting warmed up I think when three more looked inclined to have a go at him, so he disapparated. I didn’t catch up with him until after he was arrested.”

 

Hermione sobered. “Madam Rosmerta wouldn’t let me pay for the drinks, said they would be on Severus’ tab, and the damages would go on that Alfred person’s account seeing as he started it.” 

 

Connie noticed Hermione’s use of Snape’s first name. Severus, was it now? She watched carefully as Hermione’s enthusiasm drained completely away. Confident to a fault at times, it was a rare sight to see the witch shrinking away. Hermione asked in a small voice, “Do you… do you think it could be  Madam Rosmerta? I noticed that she was flirting with him. I don’t think he noticed, oblivious man.” She laughed, looking a bit embarrassed.  

 

Connie smothered a knowing smile. Severus Snape wasn’t one to miss a trick, even in a busy pub. Oh no, Connie knew exactly why  _ Severus _ hadn’t reacted to Rosmerta’s flirting. “Indeed. Wizards are so unobservant sometimes. They can’t see what is going on right in front of them.” She couldn’t help but laugh. The same was equally true of witches, especially brilliant ones. Oh, this was going to provide hours of amusement. 

 

After a few more bites of toast, Hermione said, “I hoped Minerva could extricate him from that cell sooner.  I can’t stand the thought. They’d never do that to me, even though I robbed Gringott’s.” 

 

Drumming her fingers on the table, Connie considered. “Hermione, there is no way that people would be scared of you. Remember that Severus had almost two decades of intimidating most of the population of Great Britain’s magical children, so there are grudges layered upon grudges.” 

 

“But… he was a strict teacher tasked with teaching gormless magical children, and he was expected to make sure his charges survived. I thought he had a lot to offer if you weren’t too busy obsessing about his other personality traits.” Hermione’s mouth quirked up at some happy memory before something ruined it and the smile was gone, like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. “There were times that he didn’t seem to put much stock in fairness.” She glanced toward the door, as though that condemnation might by some twisted karma summon the man to defend himself.

 

Shaking her head, Connie countered, “I know, dear. He’s dealt with much more than any one person should have to bear alone. Some of the rumors of what he was like when they released him from the hospital, well. I hope they aren’t true. His grasp of the mind magic disciplines helped him survive, but it was at a cost.” Her wide blue eyes searched Hermione’s face. “He probably was occluding quite densely in the pub, so he couldn’t feel the cretin coming like he might in a less crowded venue.”

 

A clatter rang out in the hall as Hermione dropped her fork onto her plate from nerveless fingers. “Oh… oh no. It is my fault. I made him go look at tea.” Not bothering to get the fork, she dropped her face into her hands again, so her voice was muffled as she went on. “He couldn’t stand Madam Puddifoot’s. Almost walked out on me entirely there, I think. I just thought it was the atmosphere. It wasn’t the doilies, it was the teenagers.” She turned a narrow eyed gaze on Connie. “Does he smoke much or did I drive him back to it?” 

 

Connie cleared her throat. “Can’t really say, honestly. I don’t see him outside of Hogwarts much. Haven’t been in his quarters, either.” Tapping her finger on her chin, she went on thoughtfully, “His office doesn’t smell of it but if he decided he wasn’t going to smell like it, I’m sure he would learn an appropriate spell or invent it if it didn’t exist, one or t’other.” She drained her tea, before saying. “It matters little. And Hermione, you know him well enough, he isn’t going to do anything that isn’t of his own volition.” There was an unspoken  _ ever again _ that hung in the air, so she forged on, “You didn’t force that cigarette into his hand.” 

 

Peeking out from her hands, Hermione responded, “I still feel somewhat responsible. I was supposed to help him, and taken on a basic level I drove him to smoking and led him into a bar fight and jail. Again.” Hermione dug her fingers into her thick mane of hair. “I wish I could do more.” 

 

Shaking her head, Connie knew there was nothing that could be done that hadn’t been already attempted. The MLEP was within its rights and jurisdiction, so long as they did not keep him longer than 24 hours there was nothing even the Minister of Magic himself could have done within the letter of the law. Last night, Minerva returned from the station and banged on Connie’s door in a towering fury that carried on until the increasingly fragile aged witch broke when Poppy appeared on Connie’s summons. The weeping that followed Minerva’s rage was actually worse to handle, and Poppy admonished Minerva for allowing herself to get into such a state with her heart problems, thanks to that toad, Umbridge and her goons. Poppy dosed Minerva with a tailored calming potion made for the purpose by Severus himself, and after encouragement, Minerva transformed into her animagus form, a bandy-legged morris cat with a greying muzzle for a restorative nap. Connie rather enjoyed that time with her Headmistress. It was a relief to be able to offer some small comfort.

 

It was a miracle that the MLEP hadn’t thought to cart Minerva off to St Mungo’s as she was evoking shades of Dumbledore. Later Connie learned from the gossip vine that it took Snape himself begging McGonagall to leave off for his sake that ultimately ended her tirades. Connie couldn’t blame Minerva. They hadn’t allowed Snape a healer visit as his injuries were not life threatening. As though the man’s nose really needed any further remodeling. 

 

Anxious to not rehash last night’s heartache, she instructed Hermione, “Now, finish your breakfast, go wash up, and we’ll have a strategy session, alright?” Connie stood up and patted the young witch on the shoulder. “You did well, dear. I know it feels like a disaster, but you did very well.” Hermione’s eyes lit up at Connie’s praise and she applied herself to her breakfast as though it were a new Arithmancy problem. 

  
The girl was  _ such  _ a good student. Fortunately she was distracted enough that Connie was able to scoop the newspaper up and walk it out of the Great Hall before Hermione noticed it was missing.


	5. Alpha es et O, Alpha es et O.

Severus was grateful when Headmaster McGonagall presented herself punctually to take him back to the school. Another night in a cold cell was nothing to what he’d suffered in his life but that didn’t reduce the bitterness and irritation he felt at the inconvenience. His jailors made sure to plenty of time waving around the Daily Prophet, rereading aloud the details of his arrest and the reams of looney tunes accusations that cropped up every time his name came back to the attention of the general public. He had exerted restraint in dealing with the goons, and he rather fancied he had started to get into the holiday spirit with his choice of hexes.

 

He was certain that Rita Skeeter kept people on hand as negative character witnesses to ‘add colour’ to any story in which he featured, although he had offended enough people over the years, they might even do it for free. She located his Azkaban mug shot and so it was featured prominently on the front page of the Sunday edition. He rather fancied that he looked dangerous, lean and hungry like a wolf, and his neck was still a meaty mess. That picture alone was enough to bring back old memories that were better forgotten.

 

He hadn’t slept well. His injuries and vulnerability would have been sufficient to assure a state of wakefulness, but the stricken look on Hermione.. no _Professor Granger_ ’s face haunted him. She threatened to call down Auror Potter on them. She was fierce, a glorious sight in the heat of her indignation. Her hair really did crackle with power, and the fools allowed her to get to a pitch of fury that few had ever seen out of the normally studious Professor.  

 

Severus had been through this before, and knew that it would come to nothing more than inconvenience. Potter could not and would not intervene every time someone had a go at Snape, and technically the MLEP was within their rights to detain him. He groused at her to leave off, and walked himself into the cell. That was when he saw the terrible look, and he had not dared take down his shields now to confirm his suspicions. He could not bear it.

 

She was too close to the crossfire and she could have been gravely injured, an innocent bystander and one that didn’t deserve the toil of his burdens. It was agony to think how foolish he had been to let his guard down. It was a truly seductive possibility, that he just might be able to secure the good regard of the Brightest Witch of Her Age. For a fleeting, perfect moment he began to believe that he might see a little slice of happiness. The stark reality was that his affection would bring her nothing but grief. It ravaged his heart to see in her eyes when he walked into the cell. She deserved better, but this would never stop. Some wise-wizard would always want a go at him. 

 [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/94718081@N05/37804209755/in/dateposted-public/)

His own ravaged face from that Azkaban photo stared back at him all night long. One of the patrolwitches pinned the clipping to the wall across from his cell. Hallow eyed, lips twisted in a snarl, hair lank and dirty, he was barely human at that moment in time. What could such a man as he offer Hermione Granger? He was a broken man with a blackened soul. She was lovely and brilliantly bright. It was nothing short of a crime that he could have been so incredibly selfish to want to be something more to her. Sure, she might decide to make him a project, but once she really understood, saw him for who he really was under his carefully constructed public personality, she'd never be able to love such a monster. No, he didn't deserve happiness of any sort.  

 

Granger was wrong, and nothing could change that. He'd have to make her understand if it killed him. As the patrolwizard released Severus to the Headmistress' care, he resolved to let Hermione go. 

 

* * *

 

Minerva walked Severus out of the town limits of Hogsmeade, having signed him out under her supervision. The whole thing was an embarrassment and she hated that he was treated this way. He wasn’t a nice man nor an innocent man, but he was a good man. That unfortunately counted for very little these days. Godric Gryffindor must be rolling in his grave.

 

Severus’ face softened when they returned his clothes and he found the transfigured sprig of holly still intact, and it did Minerva’s heart good to see it. She could tell from the magical signature that it was Hermione’s work. There was hope yet, she thought, and as he was pulling on his robes, she covertly set a preservation charm on it, ensuring that it would not degrade too quickly.

 

Now, as he walked out of the little station, observed by the Patrol Officers, he wore a stone mask. Minerva could tell by the stiffness with which he walked that he had not been treated for his minor injuries, as if the state of his nose weren’t enough of a clue. When they reached the edge of town, he turned to her, “I would rather not appear in the Entry Hall. If it is agreeable to you, I’ll walk you part of the way, and then take off.”

 

Unwilling to deny him anything, Minerva took his offered arm, and walked with him until the road flattened out. It touched her that he stayed with her long enough to be certain that she would make it back safely. She stood and watched as he took to the air, exerting the power of flight he learned from Lord Voldemort. It was one of the few unencumbered joys left to him. She shook her head at the injustice of it all.

 

She remembered when he returned to his post as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, eschewing the dungeon suite, saying that he had a need for a view of the sky where-ever possible. She understood his need for space, and wished she could grant it to him fully. He was monitored closely by the ministry, and his parole conditions included that she provide the Ministry with regular reports of his comportment both on and off of the job. It was tedious, and she had given Kingsley Shacklebolt a piece of her mind on more than one occasion. It was out of his hands, but it made her feel better.

* * *

 

McGonagall sighed over her dinner plate. The Great Hall was abuzz with student chatter, and all of them had read the Daily Prophet or heard rumors of what had happened with Professor Snape the day before. The man himself had chosen not to attend lunch or dinner, and she had noticed that Hermione was looking at the door anytime there was movement in that direction.

 

Connie Rolle was frowning, which was an unusual sight. She (at this moment in time) was making an effort to draw Hermione out of her dense silences. McGonagall tried a direct approach. “Professor Granger. There is nothing to do about Professor Snape for the moment. He will resurface before class tomorrow, don’t fret. He was quite tired, and I am sure he hadn’t a wink of sleep in that barbaric cave.”

 

Hermione seemed to be embarrassed by the attention, and she nodded. “Of course, Headmistress.” McGonagall was not fooled, however. The girl was going to get an ulcer at this rate. Minerva blamed herself, really. This idea of hers and Rolle’s was supposed to bring joy, not anxiety and pain. It was a certainty that Snape was not resting, rather he was probably steeped in Firewhiskey and his own black thoughts. There were times where he would accept her company, but Minerva did not believe that tonight would be one of them. Should she send for Lucius?

 

She glanced up at the enchanted ceiling in the great hall. What students failed to notice was that while the sky itself was a generally faithful rendition of what was occurring outside, the castle itself tended to reflect the moods of it’s Headmaster. Minerva had reluctantly accepted the mantle of office from Professor Snape, but the castle itself still seemed to remain stubbornly connected to him on a deep, visceral level. The churning clouds above choked out most of the starlight, and only the faint glow of the moon winked through. Only the most observant would notice it, and so long as Professor Snape refused the post, McGonagall was forced to suggest that the Castle’s magic would never be the same after the  Battle.

 

Professor Flitwick provided some distraction, enlisting Hermione and Connie’s help as well as Hagrid for the Holiday transformation of the castle. Hermione left before pudding was served, pleading fatigue. At Connie’s silent query, McGonagall shook her head. Best to leave both parties to their thoughts.

* * *

 

Severus was doing exactly what McGonagall thought he might be. He was pacing in his rooms and draining off a pint of Firewhiskey. He loathed himself when he drank, always put in mind of his dear old Dad, may the devil take him. Still there weren’t many things as effective as ethanol at numbing away the intense feelings that plagued him. He was forced to take down his shields regularly, or suffer serious consequences. He had become so sensitive of a legilimens that he fancied he could feel emotion off of the stone walls around him. The Castle was worried. There was always a faint tone of reproach when he let his shields down like this, but it often would diminish. Reaching out to touch the wall seemed to help, as though the Castle were alive, and he was soothing it as one might an overexcited owl or a nervous Abraxan. The calming communion flowed both ways, really.

 

A ripple of curiosity passed through the walls and a moment later, Severus heard a scratching at his door. Turning, he identified the source as a sheet of parchment wiggling under the gap. He was of half a mind to curse it when it resolved into an origami frog that hopped over to him.  Severus managed catch the frog on his second leap and blearily read the memo. Crushing the now inanimate parchment into a ball, he threw it into the fireplace with a bitter laugh.

 

His presence at the Staff’s annual Holiday decoration party was requested and required this Thursday. Mutinous thoughts of assigning detentions that night bubbled up from the black pitch of his despair. Catching his own glower in a mirror, he lifted the crystal tumbler to his lips and drained off the last drops of the whiskey and then took himself off to bed.

 

That night he slept fitfully, and had vivid nightmares, leaving an aftertaste of bitterness and betrayal when he woke to the early light of dawn. His mood remained black as he erected his barriers, shaved, and steeled himself for another day of teaching. He skipped breakfast, the sixth meal in a row that he had not taken in the Great Hall, choosing to skive a mug of coffee in the faculty lounge before skulking down to the potions classroom.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was certain that Professor Snape was avoiding her. It was Thursday morning, and she had yet to exchange two words with him, in spite of attempting to send him messages or catch him after class. Far from quelling her determination, she lost any pretense of waiting demurely for the blasted man to emerge from his sulk and went full-Hermione.

 

First, she needed to gather her forces, and her mind was abuzz with possibilities as she sank into her chair at the breakfast table. A glance up and down its length confirmed Snape’s absence.

 

Nearby, Connie greeted her with a nod, and Hermione was treated to the sight of him in his full, male aspect. He was every bit as himself as he was the day before, but masculine. Hermione glanced over curiously at the Daily Prophet that he had folded over carefully to expose an article on the upcoming Abraxan racing season. Hermione asked lightly, “Going to run up the tallies?”

 

Tracing a finger along his perfectly waxed moustache, Conrad raised his eyebrows. “Gathering information for the necessary variables. I imagine I’ll be visiting the courses over the Hols.” In addition to his duties as the Professor of Arithmancy, Rolle was a competitive Abraxan rider. It was a natural extension of his posh muggle upbringing, as he had performed well as a junior in dressage and jump. His father was a serious Polo connaisseur, and his Grandfather had been quite fond of the hunt.  

 

Hermione distractedly fixed herself a bowl of porridge and murmured thanks as Conrad politely offered to pour a cuppa for her. “You’re coming tonight, I assume?”

 

“Everyone’s attendance has been commanded by Queen Minerva.” As he set down the pot, a smirk tugged up the right corner of his mouth and he leaned in to murmur, “I heard that Professor Snape attempted to beg off on account of a large batch of detentions given to a third of his fifth year class.”

 

Before Hermione could comment, he forged on, “Minerva told him that he’d have to reschedule that guilty pleasure to his own time and that she expected him with the rest of us down here at eight o’clock on pain of her extreme displeasure.” He leaned back in his chair, finger tapping the side of his nose.

 

A spate of laughter bubbled up and Hermione had to grab her napkin to hide her mirth. “Well, it was an earnest effort.” Still chuckling, she dropped the napkin back into her lap carelessly, where it slid down to the ground between her and Connie.

 

Her voice floated up from under the table as she bent to retrieve the errant linen. “Do you suppose that he’ll turn everything black and green? To irk Headmistress McGonagall?”

 

There was no response from Conrad, although she supposed that given her nose was level with his knee, he might have not heard her properly. As she straightened, she looked at Conrad who was still sitting back, at his ease, but a certain degree of tension had flowed into the drape of his arm over the back of his chair. Adding to the confusion, Conrad addressed the space above Hermione’s head. “Well?”

 

The lightest whisper of a robe brushed against Hermione’s shoulder as Snape folded into the chair next to her. She whipped her head about as he cleared his throat and poured himself tea, using his wand to do it. He looked drawn, and impossibly pale. Had he that bit of gray at the temples last week? Had she ever seen him with his hair doing  anything but hanging about his face? She wondered what had possessed him to tie it back, and then she realised that she was staring.

 

The Runes Professor blushed furiously, and was about to embarrass herself further when his deep baritone answered, “Silver. Green and silver, are the only tasteful colors for Holiday Decor, Professor Granger.”  

 

Hermione didn’t miss a beat, blurting out, “Surely a little red for contrast, sir? Unrelieved green and silver would be difficult to differentiate from the garlands themselves. It could get boring.”

 

The Potions Master’s eyes glittered as he uttered a retort. “What a tragedy, for an already banal tradition to become even more droll. What shall we do?” He punctuated the last with a wave of his hand.

 

“See, I am right.” Hermione fetched up her spoon, scraping the last of her porridge, which was now cold, from the bowl. Her mouth was dealing with the gluey mass when Conrad pitched right in.

 

As Conrad spoke, there was a sort of mocking tone to his voice. “Oh, well. We should liven things up, then.” He tapped a finger on his chin, considering. “We could sing carols as we work.”

 

Professor Snape rolled his eyes, “Oh, surely not. We’re not permitted to use the naughty verses at a school function, Rolle.”

 

Hermione’s eyes latched onto the Potions Professor’s face, her eyes bright as she asked, “Naughty? You man, like Jingle Bells, Batman smells..?” Before Severus could respond to her goading, Conrad broke in.

 

Clapping his hands, Conrad twinkled back at Snape. “I have NO idea what you mean. I am as innocent as newfallen snow.”

 

The look that Snape leveled at Rolle could have curdled water, and he kiboshed the next obvious must-have addition to any holiday function. “And don’t you dare spike the punch.” Stretching out his long legs before him, he settled in for a good glaring match with Rolle.

 

Between the platinum blonde wizard to her left and the raven haired to her right, Hermione went unnoticed as she pulled out a roll of parchment and conjured a quill and ink. She began to write furiously.

 

“I am offended. I would Never...” Conrad’s tone wasn’t serious but he leaned a bit forward to glance over Hermione’s newly formed list. “Games, dear? What did you have in mind?”

 

Hermione smiled, “Just a bit of friendly competition. There are so many options.” Snape was still glaring at Conrad, and failed to comment. “Best display, best charmwork..”

 

Heedless of Hermione’s lengthening list, Conrad brightened. “Oh, I have the _most_ wonderful idea!”

 

It didn’t take a legilimens to know that this was dangerous. “Rolle, I warn you…”

 

“Don’t be such a Scrooge, Severus.” Conrad leaned in, looking the list over. “We could have a mistletoe contest.”

 

Hermione frowned, “A what?”

 

“Mistletoe placement. Each of us is given a bunch of mistletoe to hang somewhere in the castle. The stuff is enchanted, so each successful kiss will cause the mistletoe to grow a new berry. After the Yule Ball, we’ll count the berries and declare the winner.” Conrad looked hugely pleased with himself.

 

Snape was appalled. “You can’t be serious.”

 

The scratching of the quill on parchment registered Hermione’s opinion on the subject. “Right then. I’ll talk to Professor Flitwick about some music. Professor Snape, you’ll bring the punch, doctored at your own peril, and Conrad, you shall arrange for Mistletoe Madness.” She paused, brushing the quill against her lips in thought. “Perhaps some rules are in order?”

 

Conrad Rolle beamed. “Capital. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll set some rules and check with McGonagall. This is going to be such a laugh!”

 

Disturbed to find himself the voice of reason, Snape interjected, “You realise that we are supposed to be suppressing the amount of snogging going on in the hallways, not increasing it? Better to be without wit than to apply it in this foolish way.”

 

Hermione was blushing again. “Snogging occurs independent of the presence or absence of mistletoe.” She tilted her head, “Won’t it make it simpler to police said snogging if it happens to collect in certain mistletoe infested areas?”

 

A good wingman, Conrad backed Hermione up. “You enjoy rounding up amorous offenders, Severus. Besides, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to participate!”

 

“What’s the prize?” Professor Snape crossed his arms, the picture of irritation.

 

Headmistress McGonagall’s voice behind them answered, “10 galleons and a tin of my Ginger Newts.” She had been passing by and stopped to listen. The elderly witch smiled down at the three Professors fondly, “It is good to see you getting into the spirit for tonight. Remember, eight o’clock, sharp!”

 

Foiled, Snape grumbled. “Humbug!”

 

Taken with a sudden coughing fit, Hermione quickly brought her napkin back up to cover her mouth once more. Her eyes were streaming and she wiped at them before exclaiming. “Is that the time? I’d better be off!” Unable to hide her glee she smiled at both men and chirped, “Good day to you both!”

 

Conrad found himself to be the object of intense scrutiny. He met Snape’s gaze head on and quirked a little smile. “Come now, Severus. It is just a Christmas Party. Not the end of the world, surely?”

 

“That idea was ridiculous, Rolle. You lead Professor Granger and the students of this school into folly. I happen to have a great deal of affinity for Ebenezer Scrooge. How did he put it?” Snape allowed a dramatic pause before he delivered the line, “If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips would be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”

 

Rolle leaned in, a knowing smirk growing as Snape recited his part. “Ah, but will the Spirits of Christmas visit you and change your life forever?”

 

He was startled by the answering bleak expression on Snape’s face. At the outer edge of his hearing, Conrad only just caught the low response. “The past was a horror, the present is a purgatory, and my soul’s fate cannot be altered by bringing a Christmas goose around to the Weasleys and helping George re-grow an ear.  No, Rolle. The Spirits should have visited me over twenty years ago, I think.” His eyes closed against the pain of time and opportunity lost.

 

“Severus…” Conrad searched for the right words, stricken that he had inadvertently poured salt on his colleague’s wounds with his tactless comment. He reached out to grip the Potion Master’s shoulder, shaking it as if to wake the man from a nightmare. “Don’t let regret eat you alive. Happiness is right in front of you, if you only would allow it in. Take a chance, man.”


	6. O Jesu Parvule, For Thee I Sing Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus endeavours to prove that he is not a nice man. Angst ahoy, me hardies.

Eight o’clock in the evening rolled around and the entire faculty of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry congregated in the Great Hall, having been requested and required to show up. Strains of music filtered down from the fifth floor where a little acapella group was practising the Gloucestershire Wassail, adding just the right amount of holiday cheer with a record thirty two verses, some especially composed for Hogwarts. What they lacked in skill they made up for in enthusiasm.

 

Before everyone started to work, Minerva McGonagall bid them gather around. “Thank you all for arriving so promptly.” She waited for everyone to settle and warmth bled into her expression as she continued on, “Things are always so busy, but having you good people all here at Hogwarts brings me such happiness. I cannot fully express my gratitude for every one of you, thank you for lending your time and talents for the betterment of our students.” She gestured for Conrad, still in his mustachio’d masculine form to take the floor. “Professors Rolle and Granger had a wonderful idea for a little friendly competition to brighten the mood. Professor Rolle, if you please.”

 

Word of the Mistletoe Madness contest was strategically leaked to the rest of the faculty earlier in the week, and as Rolle passed out the enchanted sprigs of mistletoe, he expanded on the rules. “We are looking for good clean competition here, just a little friendly contest to see who can get the most kisses under their mistletoe which will manifest as a new berry.”

 

In the back, Hagrid and Filch had their heads bent together, and the merry jingle of coin exchanging hands may have been audible to those who were inclined to listen. Trelawney certainly was paying attention and the flash of silver in the light could be seen as she bent her head to place her own bet. The Headmistress had noticed and was watching with narrowed eyes.

 

Madam Hooch, ever the sharp eye for possible hanky panky, asked, “So if I were to kiss you, under your mistletoe ten times, you’d get ten berries for my trouble?”

 

Conrad approached McGonagall with purpose in his expression, answering, “Why, I’m so glad you asked.” Minerva started at Rolle’s voice being so near and immediately transferred her glower to Professor Rolle, miscreant faculty in the back now forgotten.

 

Rolle closed the gap and held a sprig up high, waggling his eyebrows at McGonagall, “Thanks for being such a good sport, Minerva.” He pecked McGonagall chastely on the cheek, and the suspended sprig popped its first berry into existence with a soft chime. The Headmistress looked fit to be stuffed, eyes wide and lips clamped shut, as though she might be concerned that Conrad was about to slip her his tongue.

 

“As you see, that is all it takes. Now, repeated kissing by the same couple will not result in additional berries.” He stole another peck and received a stony glare from McGonagall. The sprig’s berry transfigured into a tiny white flower. Perhaps understanding that he had stretched his Headmistress’ tolerance to her working limit, he stepped away from her, one hand up in a gesture of peace.

 

Quick to chip in and pull attention away from her discombobulated boss, Hermione beamed at the gathering, willing enthusiasm into the group, “This will be loads of fun. The mistletoe is certified free of any kind of holding enchantments, such as those the Weasleys employ on their version of the decor.”

 

With a highbrow drawl, Conrad waved away the very idea, “Holding charms, they are SO last year.” This last was said with a roll of the eyes that would have been at home on one of the dramatic tweens that they had to deal with regularly.

 

“Winners will be announced in the midst of the Yule Ball and there will be a modest prize. You all should take care to position your sprigs about the castle with an eye to avoid disrupting normal classes. Any sprigs placed inside classrooms will be disqualified. Stick to common spaces.” Conrad Rolle smirked as Professor Snape was obviously examining his to see what had been done to the enchantments. “Do not attempt to meddle with the sprigs, it will be obvious, and such tampering will also disqualify you.”

 

Hermione spoke up, her expression suddenly suspicious. “Who will be using that one?” She pointed to Rolle’s beflowered sprig.

 

Rolle smiled wickedly back, “Well, it is mine, of course. Shall I break yours in for you too?” He held her gaze, and pushed a bit further in order to fan that lovely blush of Hermione’s, “That is, if you are so eager to make sure everything is fair.” He cast his gaze about the gathered company. “In fact, I’d be willing to even the odds for everyone, should you all wish it.” With a wink at the now violently blushing Hermione, he ceded the floor back to McGonagall who wasted no time in dividing up the group into teams and divvying out the tasks.

 

A scowling Severus Snape was miraculously paired up with the Headmistress herself and Hermione Granger to work on decorating the trees within the great hall. Rolle was paired with Madam Hooch as well as Professors Trelawney and Sinestra, who were given the job of hanging garlands in the hallways, a task that seemed to please Rolle greatly, and no one doubted that he was about to hang his mistletoe in just the right spot. Flitwick and Sprout were to place charms on the suits of armor. Quartering out the territory, everyone broke apart, ready to get to work.

 

Earlier, Hagrid hauled in four gigantic spruce trees, no doubt selected from the nearby Forest. He was careful not to pick trees that were occupied by bowtruckles or showed other signs of being wand-grade wood, but McGonagall always thought there was an extra hint of magic surrounding the trees. The Great Hall echoed the sound of the students rehearsing their carols  in the sixth floor gallery.

 

Hermione was set to hanging ornaments on each tree, which had been in no small part made by students in Charms Club and Practical Magik extracurriculars. It was obvious that it took the witch a great deal of effort Not to correct imperfections in the student’s contributions, the tension in her shoulders as she conducted spoke volumes. McGonagall was following with garlands of gently chiming bells, and Snape was conjuring fairy lights. All three seemed to be deep in their own thoughts, no one was speaking.

 

“So. How did your shopping mission go, Severus? Before the rude interruption, that is.” The bells in her hands tinkled as McGonagall guided them into even intervals about the tree in front of her. It took much of her poise not to react as Hermione was correcting the placement of bells on the second tree they had already completed, but this fetched her attention and Hermione’s hands stilled, waiting for his answer.

 

It was a long, painful moment before the taciturn man answered, “Not successfully, unfortunately. Although Hermione did make a valiant effort, I have made but little progress. I am afraid that it would be best if I stuck to catalog shopping.” He inclined his head to Hermione, producing a fleeting grimace.

 

Dropping any pretense of starting in on the fourth tree, Hermione moved closer. “Oh, but I promised you I’d help. I don’t think catalog shopping is really the best way to go about it. I’ve always preferred to see the merchandise first-hand, as much as I dislike crowds.” Sensing the negative response already in the offing, she wheedled, “We don’t have to go back to Hogsmeade. Diagon Alley has ever so many more shops.”

 

Severus continued to summon and float fairy lights, his jaw muscles working tensely. His wandwork, usually precise and elegant, was suffering for the irritation he was obviously struggling to contain.

 

Always a Gryffindor, and perhaps still lacking tact as a working skill, Hermione forged on, “I am still absolutely livid with the MLEP, division head. I’ve already sent several letters. The Minister’s not able to meet with me until the New Year, it seems, but that just gives me more time to gather up cases for precedent.”

 

Severus received a terse, stiffly worded apology from the Patrol Leader that very morning, and it had all of the markings of an insincere gesture. McGonagall had taken a look at it and her comment was poignant, “Empty words from ministry cogs, how little things change.”

 

Hermione was now speaking to the Potions Master’s back. “I could go anytime this weekend. We could have lunch, my treat.”

 

Silence was Severus’ answer to Hermione’s declaration. McGonagall made a rude noise and answered for the blasted wizard, “What Severus is struggling to find words to explain to you, Hermione, is that he has no intention on going shopping again.”

 

A flash of surprise at the show of support crossed Severus’ face, but it was quickly wiped clean by Hermione’s distressed wail, “What!? No, Professor, please. Be reasonable.”

 

“I have no wish to expose myself or anyone with me to such dangers again, Hermione.” Severus’ voice was firm, laced with disdain, “Not for a bit of foolish pleasure.”   

 

Hermione walked around so she was facing her friend, and her eyes searched Severus’ face for the answer she wanted, her amber eyes shifting focus rapidly from side to side. “But Severus… I promised you I’d help.”

 

Severus resumed conjuring fairy lights, turning his back on both of the witches. “No.”

 

McGonagall strove to catch up. The plan was going hideously awry. How could he say no to those big brown eyes? The scottish accent of her family was thick when she suggested, “What if you used a disguise of some sort, Severus?”

 

“Oh, that’s a good idea, Professor. We could transfigure...”  Hermione couldn’t stop calling McGonagall Professor.

 

Severus shook his head. “I am too recognizable, if not by my stature then I would be betrayed by the sound of my voice.”

 

“Polyjuice?”

 

Severus shook his head again. “It takes a month to brew, as you well know, _Miss_ Granger, and boomslang is highly regulated, I’d be remiss to use it for my own pleasure.” The regression to use of her student name was a veiled reference to Hermione’s extracurricular production of the potion when she was thirteen years old. “I do not keep it around the castle, it is too easily abused.”

 

He was casting faster now, the lights flowing from his wand gold and green onto the last tree. McGonagall noticed earlier that every tree had green lights along with the primary color of one of each of the houses. The Slytherin tree had glowing tiny green lights that were connected by luminescent white snakes instead of the indistinct fairy lights conjured elsewhere. Green and red flashing lights rendered Gryffindor’s house tree hideously garish, hard to even look at without getting a headache.

 

“I could borrow Harry’s cloak.”

 

Severus whipped around and it was clear that he had had enough. He stalked over to Hermione and looked down at her, speaking with the voice he reserved for particularly dangerous fools. McGonagall had heard that tone used before, directed at Harry years ago. “For the last time, I said no. Nothing you can say will induce me, Miss Granger. Clever manipulations and finesse will not circumvent my decision, my resolve is quite firm. I will not be moved.”

 

Tears sparkled in the younger witch’s eyes. “But what of your happiness? Or, if that fails to move you, what of her happiness? The war is over, Professor. You are your own master now. You don’t need to hide. You have friends… people who.. ”

 

A slicing gesture cut off the words pouring out from Hermione’s heart. McGonagall had a sinking feeling as Severus’ eyes flashed, the old sneer taking up residence comfortably on his expressive mouth. Waves of anger radiated from the man, and McGonagall was startled, moving rapidly from concern to outright fear. Severus’ mental walls had cracked and his emotions were leeching into the atmosphere. The magnitude of it was overwhelming, it was sweeping them away, threatening to drown them in the undertow of his self loathing.

 

Hermione took a step back from the Potions Master bearing down on her with the full force of his fury, her eyes widening in shock.

 

“There are no grades or essays in real life, _girl_. I am not an extra credit project. It is not for you to decide in what manner I am to be happy. Pure Gryffindor arrogance drives you, otherwise you’d understand if you took a moment think.”

 

Hermione flinched at the jab, but before she could open her mouth, Severus rolled onwards, “I choose to protect those around me, especially from myself. I have little doubt that She is much safer without me in her life. I cannot and will not stand by and allow another single person that I care for to be put in harm’s way, especially for my own happiness. She will have to find her happiness with another, more suitable wizard.”

 

True to form, Severus turned away from them, growling, ”I should have anticipated this when I agreed to go along with this farce, Miss Granger. Intelligent as you may be; you are still a Gryffindor, through and through.” Abruptly, the alien emotions dissipated.

 

Hermione’s face was shining with tears now, and before McGonagall could recover from shock at the cruel words the witch had gasped out, “I’m sorry. Excuse me!” and dashed away.

 

Severus’ tall frame sagged as Hermione disappeared out of sight. He jumped as the Headmistress’ crisp voice broke the silence that settled in the wake of that terrible argument. “That was badly done, Severus and you know it.”

 

He turned on McGonagall, pain and fury coloring his voice as he responded. “You don’t understand, Minerva.”

 

McGonagall was not one for screaming, and it was hardly necessary in the huge cavern of the Great Hall, each hard word ricocheting off of the walls and ringing with contempt. “Oh? Don’t I now? You manipulated Professor Granger, committing the same supposed _sin_ that you branded her with. You accused her of treating you with callousness, as though you were a mere project. Of arrogance in wanting to see you happy. Not satisfied, you had to turn around and systematically stomp on every insecurity she has carelessly let you discover over decades.”

 

Severus opened his mouth, a retort readied but it died as she stepped up to him, knobby finger outstretched. “No, Severus Snape, you don’t get to speak While I Am Talk- _Ing_.” She emphasized each of those last words with a jab into his chest with a single accusatory finger.

 

She narrowed her eyes and continued, “You think yourself so clever, so much older and wiser than those around you. You act as though you are the only one who has experienced pain, rejection, and loss.”

 

Face screwing up in denial, Severus opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off.

 

Eyes flashing angrily, McGonagall shook her head at Snape, “ _That_ is arrogance. You haven’t forgotten how to wield your tongue to wound, I hope you are pleased with the results. You willfully misinterpreted Professor Granger because you are afraid. You are scared of her love, what it could mean for you, being loved back.”

 

McGonagall felt a flash of grim satisfaction as Severus’ face blanched white as a sheet. “No one told her that she is the object of your ardor, Severus. She volunteered, she chose to offer to help you in the name of a bald faced lie, a fictional woman because she thinks that person could make you happy.” She tilted her head, “I don’t think Professor Granger knows it herself, yet, that love is too new. Too tender and uncertain. But I could see it and I think you did too.” She snorted at him, “And you just had to toss it on the floor and grind it in with your boot. You are a fool, Severus, and far worse than Hermione ever could be.”

 

She saw him looking towards the door and noticed Rolle, who had entered at some point in the midst of her impassioned speech. Rolle’s face was grieved, and he leaned on the doorway looking on with a suspicious brightness in his eyes.

 

McGonagall added, “And if I EVER hear you revert to calling her anything less than Professor Granger I will tell the elves to cut off your supply of whiskey for good. She is not a girl or a child, she is your colleague. A grown witch who has been through much more than most people twice her age. She deserves at the very LEAST your respect.”

 

Rolle’s cultured toff drawl interjected, “Professor Granger practically knocked me off of my feet in her hurry to escape. Are you always so charming, Severus? My word, no wonder the witches are beating down the gates to get a chance at you.” The teasing quality to Rolle’s voice bled away completely, “She’s a brave girl, a war hero, Severus. You just cut her badly enough to make her run away. How could you?” Rolle considered before adding in a more conversational tone, “I am rather stunned that she didn’t hex you, come to think on it.”

 

McGonagall shook her head, sending another reproachful look at Severus. “You don’t hurt those that you love, especially if they are already bleeding to death on the inside, Connie.” A glance up at the ceiling confirmed to her that what she was saying had broken through, the formerly cloudless night sky was now marred by a black maelstrom, its churning clouds illuminated randomly with painful looking streaks of lightning.  

 

Severus stared sightlessly past Conrad in the direction Hermione had disappeared in, at a loss.  “Love?” His voice was quiet, pained.

 

McGonagall’s wand whipped out and she paced away, floating the abandoned ornaments over to the last tree left for decoration. “Well, Severus. It isn’t really for me to say, now is it.” She cast a piercing look over her shoulder at him, “But I think you already know.”

 

Understanding blossomed on Rolle’s face, quickly replaced with a severe look that was directed at Severus who hadn’t said a single word in his own defense. “I think you need to make this up to Hermione, whatever your intentions are for the future. For your own good as much as hers.” Rolle squinted at him. “Just how often do you take those walls down, sir? That can’t be good for anyone.”

 

Severus turned his face away from his judge and jury, having no ready answer.

 

Rolle straightened. “That’s decided. You’re taking her shopping again, Severus. You are going to show her a lovely time, and make her forget her heartache over your sorry person. You’re going to do it and I will go along with you to make sure you don’t screw this up.”

 

When Severus shook his head, faintly replying, “She’ll never go with me now. I made sure of it.”

 

Rolle looked up at the enchanted ceiling with a smirk. “Oh, you won’t be going as yourself.” He rubbed his hands together with a positively alarming expression of delight. “This is going to be delicious!”  

 

* * *

 

Friday passed in a blur. Hermione was withdrawn, polite, hesitant to smile. The fire in her eyes had been snuffed right out.  When Finch-Fletchley whispered to her in the hall, “Don’t let the dungeon bat-bastard grind you down, Hermione!”  She couldn’t help but feel worse. All of these people seemed determined to think the best of her and the worst of Severus and it wasn’t fair. She blamed herself for pushing him too far, for ignoring his protestations and the guilt of it gnawed at her, breaking her resolve.

 

Connie, back in her feminine incarnation, cornered her at dinner. “We are going out tomorrow. I have an undeserving friend who still needs help with his shopping and I think we can do it on the sly in spite of his pigheadedness. Come up with a list of things for him after trying them out.”

 

Hermione was reluctant and tried to make excuses, “I have grading to do and a publication to edit. Connie, I just don’t…” A sigh escaped her as she looked imploringly at her friend. “He wants to be left alone. We should respect that and stop interfering.”

 

Connie waved off these excuses as easily as an Augury’s feathers repel water and good fortune. “Pish posh. You had the whole afternoon blocked off for this errand. I saw your schedule, dear.” When this didn’t elicit the desired response, she sulked and whined at Hermione, “Oh, please, Hermione? It is going to be so much fun. Please? No nasty gloomy men to tip-toe around. I promise!”  

 

“And he won’t be angry? I quite had the impression that he had no interest in my help with anything ever again.” She folded her arms defensively.

 

A crystalline peal of laughter escaped Connie’s lips. “Oh no, darling. We are going to force Severus Snape to see reason. We’ll teach him to seize the day!” Her blue eyes sparkled at Hermione, “I for one want to see the black bastard change his spots. Did you notice that he’s reverted to wearing all black, and his hair is getting long? He’s regressing and I don’t think we as his friends should stand by idly.”

 

Hermione looked away. “He made his feelings plain. I don’t think he’s really changed one bit. He’s every inch the bitter, angry, arrogant…” She cut herself off before she descended into fouler language.

 

Connie chuckled, waving her hands. “Oh, stop. Please stop! You’ve taken care of wounded animals, haven’t you, dear?”

 

Frowning, Hermione looked confused. “What?”

 

“I’ve raced horses all of my life, Hermione. Abraxan are beautiful creatures but when they are injured they turn into wizard-eating monsters.” Leaning in, Connie dropped to a whisper. “A wounded animal will strike out at the very people who seek to help them. It is a blind reflex, and I am rather afraid that for all of his outward appearance of supreme control, our dear friend Severus is not thinking straight. He doesn’t think he deserves his lady’s regard, you see. He’s already penned his own rejection.”

 

Eyes wide, Hermione leaned over, “That’s incredibly stupid!”

 

She found Connie nodding in sage agreement. “Indeed, he is being an inglorious dunderhead. So what do you say, dear. Shall we map out the path to Snape’s witch’s heart? Or have some fun trying at the very least?”

 

Biting her lip, Hermione felt a weight lift from her chest as she nodded, with a flash of defiance. “Let’s give it a go.”

 

Connie put an arm around her and gave the younger woman a half-squeeze. “That’s my brave lioness. Be there in the hall at one PM. I need to arrange for Veronica to meet us at the gates.” As Hermione opened her mouth to ask, Connie flapped her hands again. “You’ll meet her soon enough, dear. She’ll help us a long way towards finding the perfect gift for Severus’ lady love. You just have to know the right people.”   


	7. Comfort My Heart's Blindness, O Puer Optime.

Severus was irritated. He was in position, waiting just outside the gates to the school, pacing back and forth and trying to get the feel of his new persona, _Veronica_. He snorted.

 

Mum always wanted a girl.

 

Connie Rolle dosed him with a gender switching potion two hours earlier and he, now she, spent the ensuing time getting washed and buffed and trimmed and plucked within an inch of her life. Having anticipated problems with Severus’ scars, Connie had procured glamour creams that bent light and perception, smoothing away the traitorous marks that could give away Veronica’s true identity. Severus expected Connie to react to the ugliness with disgust or pity, so he was grateful for the exceedingly practical approach the busybody took to the issue. To Connie, he was a challenge to be overcome, not a shame to be covered up and Severus was heartened.

 

Neither was happy with the job the cream did on what was left of Severus’ Dark Mark. The very position of it would surely raise alarms, even if the shape was obscured. In the end, they agreed that it had to be good enough, and Connie would dissemble for Veronica if need be. It did get Veronica thinking on applications of disillusionment charms, or perhaps very limited misdirection wards. It would have been helpful to discuss it with Hermione, but that notion had to be filed away for later.

 

Next, she was shoved into underpinnings that were deuced uncomfortable, and a purple set of fitted robes. Aubergine is what Connie called it as she was exclaiming over Veronica’s model-like frame. Pure tripe. She was flat-chested for a woman and her hips were narrow. The one feature that carried over were her legs, sculpted with powerful musculature, brought into stark relief by a depilatory charm. Veronica was no more a beauty than Severus was handsome, no matter WHAT that barmy Rolle cooed to the contrary. Mortifying.

 

 _Voldemort_ never asked this of her. The Dark Lord lacked Connie’s special talent for relentless and inescapable social torture. Tom kept it clean with psychological bullying and physical pain, but in contrast Connie was cloyingly _insidious_ , her plotting always innocent at the surface. _Helpful_. Probably learned it from Dumbledore.

 

At least the shoes were reasonably comfortable low-heeled, half-boots in her prefered black. Connie had taken pity and provided her with a black fur-lined travel cape, which she pulled tight around her now against the chilled wind.  Snape hadn’t recognized himself… _herself_ in the mirror, and thought that it was as good a disguise as any she previously employed. The voice was much higher, yet was probably best described as an alto. Even the nose had changed subtly to better accommodate her more delicate features.

 

She lost some height in the transformation, and she was still trying to process the extent to which the changes had fully affected her. Her balance was off. At least her wand work wasn’t affected, her magic was not changed.

 

Using the loo was a revelation. Veronica suspected that Connie vanished the toilet seat out of a sick sense of revenge. Her backside still remembered the cold porcelain on her sensitive skin, and a shiver ran through her in the chilly November air as she continued to wait outside Hogwarts’ gates.

 

A light dusting of snow started to fall out of the grey winter sky. “I deceived the best Legilimens in history. I can be a bloody woman for ONE day. I can be gracious. I can do this,” she told herself silently. Her heart beat faster as she noticed the two figures strolling towards her over the grounds. She turned away, marshalling her thoughts, wrapping herself in the new persona.  “My name is Veronica.”   
  


* * *

 

Hermione’s spirits lifted higher the farther she walked from the castle. Truly, she felt wonderfully rebellious in taking further part in Connie’s plot to help Professor Snape. He had accepted her help before, but somewhere she had crossed an invisible line and offended the man. It was difficult to be sorry for it, as he made sure to punish her by humiliating her in front of McGonagall and anyone else who had ears to hear. She was certain the entire school heard him in his towering rage that night.

 

Connie exuded an air of repressed energy and excitement. All of this for a shopping trip? Hermione shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, having caved to Connie’s assertion that she dress in robes instead of muggle clothes as she usually did on her days off. The critical examination that Connie did when they met up in the Entry Hall was not amusing, and Hermione was under the impression that she barely passed muster. In fact, Connie had insisted on using a charm to coil her hair up into a french twist, somehow controlling the unruly mess and reducing the volume in order to do it. A fleeting glance in the side hall mirror told her that Connie had also perhaps done a bit of tailoring on her robes, which formerly hung about her loosely. When she was about to protest, Connie held up a finger, “Don’t thank me yet, darling. I couldn’t be seen walking around with you like that. Positively feral. Now at least you look like you might care at least a little.”

 

With that Connie had pulled Hermione bodily out into the courtyard with determination. “We mustn’t keep V waiting out in the cold, you know. She sent word ten minutes ago.”

 

“V? Is that the help you mentioned?”

 

Connie cleared her throat. “Yes. Veronica and Severus have known one another for dog’s years, so I thought she might be of use to try things out with. She’s a bit broody, but don’t you worry. You’ll get on like a cauldron on fire, I’m sure of it.”

 

Hermione’s mind picked at the last statement. “Did they go to school together?”

 

A clear crystalline laugh answered her, “Oh, no. Veronica was never a student at Hogwarts. They are more, acquaintances. Colleagues if you would.”

 

Hermione stopped in her tracks. “Connie.” She pulled on Connie’s arm, making the older witch spin to face her on the slushy path. Snow had started to fall on them, and Hermione was suddenly certain that Connie was not being entirely honest with her. “Veronica. Was she a Death Eater?”

 

A loud gasp was Connie’s answer. “No wonder you’re tenser than an E string on a bowtruckle’s violin. Of course she wasn’t a Death Eater. She’s more of an _academic_ acquaintance.” She reached up and patted Hermione on the cheek, tutting softly. “Really, now. I know how deeply the war hurt you but you _must_ learn to relax. How are you going to make new friends if you are always on the guard like that?”

 

Hermione let go of Connie’s sleeve, a mutinous look in her eye. “I was attacked the last time I went shopping, Connie. Or at least Snape was. People have never stopped being fascinated by us. You know Harry has to constantly be on his guard. There are _excellent_ reasons for my wariness, and it has kept me alive.” She hugged herself, looking down at her shoes, embarrassed. Snow was accumulating on her wool jacket.

 

The smell of violets invaded her senses and before Hermione knew it, she was wrapped in Connie’s warm embrace. It was ... striking. When was the last time someone hugged her? Tension left her and she sniffed, finding herself crying again.

 

“Oh, Hermione. I’ll watch over you today. I promise. I might not have been in the Order, but I’m no slouch at dealing with unwanted attention.” She pulled back to get a better view of Hermione’s distress and winced. “Come now. You can’t be as brilliant and beautiful as I am without collecting a string of obsessed suitors and jealous rivals. You’re not all that different to me, love. Let Auntie Connie take care of you, at least for today.” She flashed a 1000 watt smile at her charge.

 

The poorly suppressed weeping morphed into a peal of giggles punctuated by hiccups. “Oh Connie. I’m so ridiculous. I don’t know how I get myself into this state. I am a Rational witch! I appreciate the ordered elegance of Arithmancy. I wish _everything_ followed the rules.” She had taken out a handkerchief and mopped her eyes, now stinging in the cold air.

 

“If everyone rigidly followed rules all of time, then there would be very little variety in life, and I doubt that we would have won the war. We just need to be flexible where it counts. Now, Veronica is probably wondering if we have abandoned her.”

 

* * *

 

Veronica shifted her weight from foot to foot in the snow, shuffling to stay warm. She was put in mind of the starting line at the race track. Greyhounds must feel much the same before the rabbit was set loose. She sure felt ready to run fast, and a hunt might bleed off some of her nervous energy. Or a smoke, although, she hadn’t space for her cigarettes in these tailored robes. Small wonder witches still carried handbags, even in the modern era of undetectable extension charms.   

 

As she was meditating on the two Professors who had been walking quite slowly, it occurred to her that she had no idea of what her own voice would be in this incarnation, so she tried it on for size.

 

“ _Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. We loved with a love that was more than love.”*_

 

A clear, sweet voice cut in, taking the next line: _Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"_

 

Veronica swirled, taking care not to wobble on her heels and pasted a cordial smile onto her face. By the look on Hermione’s face, the effect must have been gruesome so she quickly pulled it. Clearing her throat, she shifted her gaze to Connie Rolle and with a lift of her eyebrows she said, “Ah, Professor Rolle. I was delighted to receive your owl.” She tilted her head a bit, dislodging a cascade of long blue-black silky hair before returning her gaze to Hermione with a quirk of her lips.

 

“Oh, Veronica, darling. You should call me Connie. We’ve known each other long enough.” She extended a hand for Veronica to shake, and felt Connie’s overlarge hand pull her closer. “Let me introduce you to the newest member of our staff, Professor Hermione Granger. She took on the Ancient Runes post last year.”

 

Hermione jutted out a hand with an overbright smile. “Nice to meet you.” The young witch’s eyes were reddened, and the briny scent of fresh tears assaulted Veronica as she took the offered hand and shook it gently, “Veronica Medici, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Professor Granger. I’ve heard much about you.”   

 

Hermione’s brow was knitted and Veronica held her breath, letting her eyes widen a trifle as she waited for Hermione to pull herself together. “Oh, oh yes. Delighted. Um, call me Hermione, please.”

 

Her own voice sounded strangely loud to her own ears in the sound-dampening snow field, but Veronica managed to meet courtesy with smooth courtesy of her own, “But of course, if you will call me Veronica.”

 

Connie looked at her watch. “Oh, look at the time. We must be going. I wanted to hit up Wiseacre’s and Badgerbrooks before we stop at the _Starry_ for tea. Grab on, girls!”

 

With some trepidation, Veronica followed Hermione in gripping Connie’s arm, taking a deep breath and following into the denseness of _be not_. It was a very short moment before all three witch’s feet came to rest on cobblestones. Opening her eyes, Veronica was greeted by the dubious delights of Diagon Alley in full swing of the holiday shopping season.

 

Connie smiled at Hermione and tucked her hand into the crook of her arm, towing her along, chatting away about Hermione’s ideas to help poor Professor Snape find a gift for his lady friend. She could be seen to wave at intervals at people she was apparently at least nodding acquaintances with.

 

Veronica trailed in their wake, tucking her hands into the cuffs her her robe. She was very aware of the press of people, and was disconcerted at the overly friendly greetings that all three of them were getting from complete strangers. Wizards seemed to be going rather out of their way to catch their attention, paying Connie rather forward compliments and asking for introductions. Losing her patience after about two minutes of this, Veronica leaned forwards and growled, “Are men always such idiots around you, Connie?”

 

A peal of crystalline laughter answered Veronica. “Oh, V. I don’t know what you are talking about.” Connie practically cooed this answer, and was obviously loving every moment.

 

Veronica muttered, “VeRONICA, Connie.” Her answer was swallowed by the bells that chimed as a wizard who was about to enter Wiseacre’s noticed the trio of witches and held the door for them. “Good morning, ladies. Out for a spot of shopping, I daresay?”

 

Hermione smiled brightly at the wizard, “Good morning Mr Brimblecombe.”

 

Connie looked impressed as she sized up the man in his herringbone suit with a pointed cap fitted with a sprig of holly. He fetched the cap off of his head and bowed slightly, waiting for Veronica to pass inside before him. He had a rather advanced receding hairline, and the skin peeking through the last bit of fringe was pink and shiny. Veronica could barely hear the low-voiced explanation from Hermione, “He’s with the ministry in the Department of Transportation. Port Keys.”

 

The floor in Wiseacre’s was littered with island displays, each manned by a shophand who was ready to explain every little convenience. Veronica wandered a short distance away and was assaulted by a plump, dark complected witch who was very enthusiastic in her sales pitch for a new line of magical personal massagers.  Before she knew it, the blasted woman had sicced a whole range of kneading vibrating artifacts on her. One was shaped like a hand and was entirely too familiar. It was fortunate that a firm slap was enough to fend the foul thing off.

 

By the time she disengaged the last overly personal item, she was very ready for some company if only for the mutual support and safety. No wonder witches wanted to travel in packs.   


* * *

 

Hermione migrated to a display of enchanted combs and brushes, a glance told her that Connie had come with her and was scrutinizing a mirror. Noticing that Veronica was separated from them, Hermione whispered, “Is she the..?”

 

Connie’s eyebrows lifted. “You know I can’t tell you that, Hermione. But I do think Veronica’s excellent taste will be valuable. Between that and your plans, Professor Snape shan’t fail.”

 

Wrenching her attention back to the task at hand, Hermione looked through the display. Combs that changed hair color, combs that claimed to tame unruly hair (which she had tried and failed with personally), brushes to smooth out knots and heal damaged hair passed under her fingers, a light touch. There was a brush made of desert boar bristle that claimed to deal with oily hair that grabbed her attention briefly. They were not here to shop for Professor Snape, they were here for his lady friend. Besides. It would be an impertinent gift.

 

Hermione closed her eyes and wondered what sort of witch would catch the dour man’s fancy. She must be rather witty, sophisticated, and have the will to push back when he was in one of his moods. That or possess the patience of a saint and enough cheerfulness to dry up his stormiest blustering. She should understand him to really be able to love him, to fully appreciate him. Prickles clutched in her chest, and she frowned at herself.

 

Connie broke in on her thoughts, “I think it might be a bit forward of any wizard to give a lady grooming implements as a gift of esteem, don’t you think?”

 

With a start, Hermione withdrew her fingers from the Desert brush and turned her attention to the next display, with a murmur, “Yes, I agree. But what about something for her hair? Do you know what ways the witch in question wears her hair?”

 

A smooth, rippling chuckle answered her and she found herself confronted by Veronica’s smirking face. The tall witch rejoined them when Hermione’s mind was elsewhere. “Something practical. I can’t imagine Severus falling for someone overly taken up with appearances. And he wouldn’t want hair all over his lab.”

 

An answering snort from Connie indicated her agreement. Hermione’s eye was drawn by Veronica’s long, tapering fingers as they reached out to pluck up a set of chopsticks. “Why would anyone want to use eating utensils to pin up hair?”

 

“Well... “ Hermione gently took the sticks from Veronica and beckoned her down into a nearby chair set in front of a mirror for the purpose, so that she could reach the taller woman’s head. “It is a matter of theatre, really. And they are safer than wands.”

 

Veronica seemed tense and was looking at Connie as Hermione started to run her fingers through her long, raven-black hair. Connie was trying not to smirk, and was failing spectacularly.

 

Too intent on demonstrating the chopstick’s use, Hermione missed the exchange, and continued to lightly run her fingers through Veronica’s hair over and over, fascinated by its silken texture. She felt Veronica shiver under her hands and that brought her out of her trance. With deft fingers she

gathered the whole mane together and twisted, pulling upwards. Veronica’s hair, being thin, collapsed obligingly down to a manageable mass, which Hermione then used the chopsticks to pin in place.

 

Released, Veronica leaned forwards to get  better view in the little mirror sitting on the counter. She turned her head, her voice skeptical. “And.. that will stay in place?”

 

Connie’s voice bubbled with mirth, “Of course, Veronica. We are witches, are we not?”

 

Caught up in the enthusiasm, Hermione said, “And for the grande finale, pull them out.” When Veronica met her eyes in the mirror she nodded. “Go on, pull them out and watch in the mirror.”

 

Hermione clasped her hands together in front of her chest, and watched admiringly as Veronica leaned back and pulled the first stick and then the second. Her hair tumbled down, righting itself into a smooth, perfect sheet, which she set swinging with a shake of her head. Hermione realised that her mouth was hanging over and closed it with what she feared was an audible click.

 

Veronica set the sticks on the counter with a thoughtful frown. “So, you don’t actually ever eat with those, do you?” Hermione was fairly certain that Veronica had missed the point entirely, and jotted down in the back of her brain, ‘Veronica is not aware of her own charm.’

 

Connie had turned away and was talking to an eager shopgirl who was attracted by Veronica’s display, so Hermione answered, “No, you don’t. Let’s go look at the optics section. I saw some wonderful glasses.” She latched onto Veronica’s sleeve and tugged.

 

“Hermione!” The witch, who Hermione had decided must be both older than she and a bit of a shut-in, sounded surprised as Hermione grabbed her hand. Hermione was rather pleased with the flush that suffused the formerly pale, ivory complexion of the taller witch. She wasn’t so reserved after, all.

 

She stopped in front of the case that harbored the glasses, and she could see the puzzled expression on her new friend’s face. Regardless of her feelings about how much of a bastard Snape had been to her recently, she resolved that she was going to make certain that she was great friends with Veronica. She told herself that if this was the one Professor Snape admired, then she wanted to know her better.

 

Already she liked the witch a great deal, and just knew, deep down, that they were kindred spirits. Sure, the woman was built like a french designer’s dream; tall, thin, and dangerously beautiful, but she also had a certain awkwardness about her that Hermione felt she understood.

 

Her heart skipped a beat as Veronica met her considering gaze, and to cover her own confusion, she called over the wizard manning the display and asked to try one of the multilensed ocular manifolds.  


* * *

 

Connie watched from across the store, bouncing on her toes and humming to herself. A little shop wizard was plying her with examples of baubles for the detection of deception and was somewhat affronted when one of them started to spin when he had complimented her on her hairstyle, a short curled do, covered by a little ermine trimmed cap in a lovely shade of hunter green velvet. She didn’t care what anyone thought, it was only a momentary wrinkle in her happiness.

 

Her heart was singing at what she had seen when Hermione was helping Snape with his hair, and in the blush on the man’s... well, _Veronica’s_ face at the contact. That was eclipsed by what Connie witnessed in Hermione’s expression just now as the two chatted with the shophand. Oh, this was TOO good. Minerva was going to cackle and crow. She focused on the scene, committing it to memory.

 

Rubbing her hands together, Connie considered her next move.

 

* * *

 

The trio met back up after Veronica and Hermione cycled through the astronomy equipment with indifference, although both seemed moderately interested in the magical timekeeping devices. Hermione sturdily made it her business to determine what Veronica’s glove-size and preferred length, and was going over the dragonhide selection for discriminating witches. Connie intercepted her as she was urging the shy woman to try on a set of opera length done up in shimmering opaleye hide.

 

Hermione didn’t miss the look of profound relief on Veronica’s face as Connie intervened with a flourish, taking the elegant gloves from Hermione and setting them down with a flounce. “Those are lovely, dear but much more to _my_ taste. Let’s move on to Badgerbrooks. This place is getting entirely too crowded and we have a reservation for tea at The Star-Eyed before our appointment at Twilfitt and Tattings.”

 

Veronica cleared her throat and said, “Isn’t that a bit, presumptive, Connie? The poor fellow’s not even mentioned his esteem to the witch in question, and here we are looking at jewelry?”

 

Patting Veronica on the arm, Connie tittered. “Well, he doesn’t often have a trio of witches with such good taste helping him, even if he couldn’t manage to tear himself away from his moping. What does that man get up to in those gloomy potions labs? Communing with the mould on the walls, no doubt. I think we should look at everything. What can it harm?”

 

The tall, beautiful witch’s mouth opened to object further, but Hermione pushed from the other side. “Come now, Veronica. Jewels are not just for marriage proposals. They last longer than flowers and should the courtship fail at least carry some marketable value.” Hermione’s eyebrows lifted, “Haven’t you been courted before?”

 

Veronica stammered, “Nnn...no. I suppose not.”

 

Sly grin firmly affixed, Hermione said, “Well, I’ve not been thrown in any great struggles of love myself, but I do know how it should be done.” She leaned back and met Connie’s impish gaze. “Shall we educate our poor, unfortunate friend Veronica?”

Connie purred, “Oh yes, Professor Granger. Severus won’t know what hit him, after the kind of education we’ll throw his way. Veronica will have to take notes to pass on, won’t you, dear?” She poked Veronica in the side, adding, “You’ll learn from it too. Wizards these days have lost their touch. Us muggleborns must remind them of what it is to be romanced without potions or magic.”

 

As the two Professors bantered back and forth, chalking up the makeshift curriculum, Veronica listened in stunned silence. She was being towed along by the two witches, each linking arms with her and both of them looking way more excited and pleased with themselves then they had any right to be.   


* * *

 

Veronica was losing patience. Overall she felt that she had been rather pleasant and well behaved. She hadn’t been raised to be a lady, she knew how to approximate one. It was trying her patience to not take offense or snarl. Connie knew full well what she was doing to her, that manipulative bitch. She was here to show Hermione a good time, to cheer the witch up. It was penance. Why was Connie so determined to assure that she was having fun?

 

She had just been starting to get into the swing of it when Hermione wanted her to try on long gloves. It was a godsend when Connie interrupted that particular exchange, where she had plucked the dangerous objects out of the earnest witch’s hands and set them down, distracting her. Veronica allowed herself a moment of gratitude.

 

They had planned for this, Veronica’s old mark was hidden under a glamour, a damned good one. The skull and snake faded since Voldemort’s death and was only betrayed by a pale scar, but she still didn’t want Hermione anywhere near it. It would ruin everything.

 

For all that Hermione was a liberally minded person, and one prone to forgiving far more than one could reasonably expect, it did not follow that meeting a stranger with an old mark would be welcome. It had been a witch bearing the mark that had hurt Hermione so very badly, after all. She did not wish to remind Hermione of that pain.

 

Now the foul platinum-topped witch was dragging her to a jewelry store. An enchanted jewelry store, of all things. Veronica had attempted to hint that perhaps it was too much. This was something she would have wanted to do with a witch with whom she had an understanding. Of course this was laughed off. She was being too sensitive, was that possible?

 

If Connie wasn’t bad enough, Hermione’s demeanor had changed from uncertain ingenue to expert. Like a collector discovering a rare specimen, now she decided it was time to go all in. Up close. Too personal. She was vivacious, flirty, and she had her hands on Veronica. Holding up earrings, asking about prefered metals, styles, and color choices. Clasping and unclasping necklaces, with quick fingers and feather-light touches Hermione sent shivers down Veronica’s spine.  

 

Every time Veronica tried to do something for herself, Hermione would bat her fingers away. It was positively infuriating. All she was permitted to do was to sit there and look in the mirror, declaring her opinions. After twenty solid minutes of this, Veronica stood up and deftly tricked the petite torturer into the chair with what might have been a dance move, if there had been music.

 

The stunned look on Hermione’s face was worth it. Cracking her knuckles, it was Veronica’s turn to cajole, torture, and steal a few caresses. Where Hermione had picked out a goblin-made platinum set with diamonds, rubies and sapphire for Veronica, she seemed to prefer more casual and less costly pieces for herself. She was enchanted by an artist who rendered natural objects out of bronze, silver, and semiprecious stones. There was a set of mistletoe earrings in particular that made her eyes dance, but when Veronica suggested that she buy them for her, Hermione absolutely refused to hear of it.

 

“No really, Hermione. You’ve been so generous with your time today.”

 

Hermione shook her head, a few curls having already escaped her bun sent bouncing enchantingly. “Oh no, don’t you dare, Veronica. I could buy my own, don’t concern yourself with me.”

 

“I insist.” Veronica looked at Hermione, dismayed that the witch refused to return her gaze. The frown that served as Hermione’s only response to Veronica’s protestation was the antithesis to what Veronica was supposed to be doing. Panic crept in as she realised her mistake.

 

Seeking out Connie, Veronica found her to be rather nearby, trying to decide between two different brooches. Thankfully, the older witch picked up on the tension. “Hermione, Veronica’s only trying to show her appreciation. There isn’t really a need for you to be so put out.”

 

Hermione’s frown crumpled, and she pulled off a necklace, setting it blindly on the counter. It was a whimsical thing, carved out of an acorn to look like a delicate filigreed cage. Not meeting the eyes of her two companions, she mumbled something about meeting them outside when they were done and exited.

 

Stricken, Veronica turned to Connie. “What was that all about?”

 

Connie held up a finger and then sunnily asked the shopkeeper who looked all the world to have been a brother to Filius Flitwick to ring up her own purchase before turning to talk to Veronica in a low voice.

 

“Hermione has never accepted attention or flattery. She always is on the giving end, rarely the receiving. It flusters her to no end. I can’t find that she’s ever been really treated like more than a walking library. Even by her supposed best friends, Severus. Books are all she gets besides a Weasley sweater once a year. At least since Crookshanks died.”

 

Veronica felt a pang of understanding and frowned. “This is more difficult than I imagined.”

 

She was startled back to the present by Connie’s fingers lightly tapping her on the cheek. “Tut tut, V. Witches are never completely what they seem. You aren’t the only one around here with a dismal track record when it comes to affairs of the heart.”

 

“I have never claimed to understand witches.” Veronica stared back into Connie’s ice blue eyes, holding still under the gaze and the pressure of the hand still on her jaw. She had enjoyed some measure of popularity after being cleared of war crimes, and being touted as a hero, years ago, but it was painfully clear that none of the witches had any genuine interest or feeling for Severus Snape. All they wanted was stories of the lurid affairs of the death eaters or to test her power, hoping for a glimpse of the dark and dangerous persona she had created and lived for decades.

 

With a sad smile, Connie answered, “Well, that won’t do, V. You are a clever person. If you are serious about pursuing anything more with Hermione Granger, you had better start applying yourself. You haven’t any rivals as of yet, thank your lucky stars. You aren’t getting any younger, you know.” She chuckled, adding wickedly, “You two do suit one another. Brightest witches of your ages.”

 

Veronica pulled back from Connie’s hand with a snort. “You are spouting rubbish, Rolle.”

 

Connie shook her finger, “You were the youngest Professor and Headmaster in Hogwarts history, you can’t deny it. Relax. Accept the compliment for what it is. And the sentiment.” She turned, adding over her shoulder, “Now, buy those mistletoe earrings and come along.”   


* * *

 

As Veronica stepped out of the shop, she was assaulted by the addresses of a Quartet of professionally jolly looking wizards. “If you please miss, we have something you’ll want to hear.” A second wizard nodded, “From an admirer, y’ken.” The third wizard held a pipe to his lips and blew a trio of notes softly. The fourth cleared his throat and counted out the beat.

 

Clutching her wand, Veronica struggled under a wave of confusion and dismay. She hadn’t any admirers,  this had to be a trap. It was Hogsmeade all over again.

 

_“Black is the colour of my true love’s hair._

_Her face so soft and wondrous fair.”_

 

Suppressing a groan, Veronica rolled her wand between thumb and forefinger, contemplating which hex to use. The quartet had a rough earnest charm, mostly right on pitch, and they moved about her, changing positions as they wove their harmonies.

 

_“The purest eyes and the gentlest hands.”_

 

When she had just about settled on a blanket silencio, she felt a small hand tuck into her elbow. Hermione Granger presented her with a white rose. With a furtive look at the gathering crowd, she coaxed Veronica’s ear close to the level of her own mouth. “I’m sorry, Veronica. I really do think you’re a lovely person. I .. I just don’t hand attention well.”

 

Pulling back, Veronica looked down into Hermione’s warm honeyed brown eyes, and was alarmed to see tears sparkling in those depths. ”Cupping the girl’s face in her palm she wiped the fresh tears away from her cheek with a thumb. “Think no more on it. I shall attempt to restrain myself, to avoid embarrassing you any further.”

 

“ _I love my love and well she knows_

_I love the ground whereon she goes.”_

 

Abruptly, Veronica became aware of the small crowd of onlookers that were watching them and not the quartet of singers. Reflexively, she gathered Hermione in, putting a protective arm around her, scanning the crowd for threats. She felt rather than heard the shuddering laugh from the witch’s thin shoulders. “Oh, I wouldn’t want you to bend yourself painfully out of shape, Vee. I’ll try to have better manners.”

 

The music made chills run up Veronica’s spine. A fist seemed to have grabbed her heart, and it was fluttering, almost as though it were ready to fly away. Hermione didn’t protest, rather she seemed to relax into the awkward embrace. Was she so starved for affection that she’d take comfort so readily from a woman who was a stranger? _What the bloody hell am I doing_?

 

She felt her ears burning and had no doubt that she was blushing. Hermione was too taken up to have noticed, but Veronica dipped her head and murmured, “We have an appointment for tea, do we not?” One arm about the damned witch, and she was flying.

 

_“Black is the color of my true love`s hair”_

 

Veronica wanted to snipe at the singers. No you are _wrong_. it’s the color of sunwarmed oakwood, threaded with gold. Fools.

Giggling quietly in embarrassment, Hermione nodded, sending those maddening escaped curls bobbing, one tickling Veronica on the cheek. “Of course. Connie went ahead, let’s go catch her up.”

 

_“She`s the sweetest face and the gentlest hands._

_I love the ground whereon she stands.”_

 

Words never truer sang. Veronica was jarred back to the present as Hermione’s hand found hers and she was towed away as a smattering of applause greeted the end of the song.


	8. Chapter Eight. With All Thy Loving Kindness, O Princeps Gloriae!

Connie observed the pair of witches as they wove through the tables in her direction. The taller, raven-haired one had her arm protectively around Hermione’s petite shoulders and they were laughing together. Neither noticed heads turning their way as they walked, they were so absorbed in each other.

 

Well, Veronica seemed to notice, as she did have her wand out, but she still had a smile on her face. It was strange and wonderful, and Connie sent up a prayer of thanks to Loki for his inspiration. As if sensing her regard, Veronica met Connie’s gaze in that instant, and she could see that the witch wasn’t as carefree as she was acting.

 

Unwelcome ice-cold fingers of conscience clutched at Connie. Had she gone too far? How would Severus respond under the pressure? Could he continue to hide under Veronica’s mantle with grace? What would happen later? Would he be inspired, or would he run the other direction? And would Hermione ever forgive them both if she found out?

 

Well, the show must go on. “Ah, there you are. I was about to start sending owls after you two.” Connie put on her best smile of polite concern.

 

Face pink with the bite of the cold London air, Hermione dropped into the chair to across from Connie with a sigh. “At least you didn’t wait for us.” She eyed the plates of sandwiches beadily.

 

Connie was looking up into Veronica’s face steadily, not flinching from the narrow-eyed glare that she had come to fully expect. “I trust that you will approve. Everything from _The Starry_ is excellent.”

 

Veronica couldn't keep the disgust out of her tone, “I’ll pass on the pie.” She took the remaining chair.

 

Connie smirked. There was a pie that was sitting in the center of the table, decorated by a series of charmed sardines whose heads poked out of the crust in a spiral like synchronized swimmers. All were smiling and crooning compliments in turns. It was more for the novelty than any kind of culinary appeal. She eyed Veronica twirling a single white rose. And what is this now? After a long moment, Connie said, “Oh turn around and give that here, you ridiculous witch. You need to eat.”

 

Hermione giggled as Connie bodily turned Veronica and plucked the bloom from her fingers, shaking her head and muttering. “Honestly. A heart unacquainted with love, indeed.” She started to plait the black hair expertly, putting the rose stem in her teeth as she worked.

 

“But, aren’t white roses for new beginnings, too?” Hermione’s mirth subsided quickly as the older Professor grumbled.

 

Veronica’s shoulders and back were stiff, and her lips were pressed together in a firm line.

 

Connie answered as she took the stem out, “That is the most common interpretation. I prefer the more esoteric, romantic interpretation.”

 

A faint blush on Hermione’s cheeks met Connie’s approving glance. “I suppose that could be true, although it would be of the giver, not necessarily the receiver.” She seemed to be apologizing, and Veronica wasn’t biting, keeping her eyes fixed on her hands clasped in her lap.

 

The rose was woven into a french braid crown that Connie fashioned such that the bloom rested over Veronica’s right ear. A prod with her wand enchanted it so that it opened just a bit wider and glowed gently. The fragrance of it intensified at the same time and Hermione took a deep breath, closing her eyes in obvious enjoyment.

 

Connie fussed at her two companions. “Eat up, no dawdling. I pulled some strings for our next stop, I’ll have you know. You need to fuel up for the rest of the afternoon, darlings.”

 

Hermione picked up a sandwich and bit into it, before asking, “What’s next, Connie?” She was looking at Veronica who remained quiet.

 

Connie beamed at Hermione over the cup of tea she held up to her lips before sipping it. “I already told you earlier. Weren’t you listening?”

 

A sniff was Hermione’s answer as she stole glances at Veronica, over her food. 

 

“Veronica, that frown surely doesn't match the occasion? You’ve not touched your food, shall I have the pie carried away?” Connie was starting to get truly concerned.

 

"Are you quite well?" Hermione was looking worried too. 

 

Veronica’s dark eyes flicked up to meet Hermione’s clear gaze and found no mocking there, only genuine concern. She turned to her tea, took a sip and then shaking her head she said, “Excuse me. I think I am in need of the … _ladies’_.” Without waiting for her companion’s answer she stood, letting her napkin fall to the floor and strode off.

 

Connie and Hermione looked at each other, and Hermione was clearly bewildered. “What .. was that?” She tilted, using her wand to summon the dropped napkin, and tossed it to Veronica’s seat with a flourish. “Did I say something wrong?”

 

“No, dear. Don’t think it for a moment. I should have mentioned that Veronica is prone to bouts of melancholy.” Connie was watching the retreating back as it disappeared from sight. “I think I need to use the ladies as well. Hermione, would you guard the table?” Not waiting for an answer, she left in hasty pursuit.

 

Contemplating her tea and the empty chairs, Hermione’s thoughts stayed with Veronica. She was witty, elegant, and beautiful. True her beauty wasn’t of the classic sort, but Hermione rather thought that if she had the inclination she might been a sensation for the runways of Paris. She had the most breathtaking smile. It was damned _unfair_.  

 

Hermione looked at her own hand, opening it and closing it. The feel of the woman’s silken hair sliding between her fingers came back to her in a rush. She brought those fingers up to her lips, and her eyes widened as she remembered the whisper of Veronica’s breath on her ear.  “What the hell?”

 

She looked in the direction that the two witches had gone, and was relieved to see that she had some time yet with her thoughts. Snape’s lady. Veronica was Snape’s lady love. Veronica is woman who he admired so well. She was certain of it. Earth’s gravity seemed to fly away as the reality hit her.

 

It was completely understandable, really. She hadn’t known the witch more than a few hours, and she thought that she might be falling for Veronica herself, bit by bit. Well, wasn’t that interesting? She had never felt an attraction like this for a witch. Sure, Ginny was gorgeous, but she never stirred this degree of _response_ from Hermione.

 

There weren’t many wizards who had stirred any kind of feeling in her. Too many were interested in her connections, her role in the late war, and her so-called influence over Harry Potter.  The ones who could hold up their end of the conversation were most often married or decades too old for her and stirred her romantic interests as much as a pile of dung might. Overly amorous advances, few and far between sent her into a panic. None of them had ever shown interest in her as a person. Even Ron had failed to really retain her affections, although he had been the closest.

 

Not only that, Hermione thought that Veronica may have returned some of her regard, had even been affectionate. Her shoulders remembered the feeling of the witch’s protective arm about her.

 

Am I gay? Is Veronica? She lifted the tea to her lips and drained the bitter draught before leaning forwards to set the empty cup back in its saucer. She knew she was overthinking this, analyzing it to death. She was clearly reading too much into what were probably normal behaviors of a woman who was a friend. Maybe Veronica’s Italian roots had some influence here, as Fleur certainly did a lot more kissing than Hermione thought necessary.

 

She caught a whispered, “Lovely girl...” from one of the fishes in the Star-eyed Pie, and allowed herself to laugh, the sound awkward in her own ears.

 

“She is, isn’t she? No girl, though. Woman.”

 

Closing her eyes, she cast her mind back to the Three Broomsticks, the last conversation she had with Severus Snape. The light in his eyes as he admitted that his feelings for this witch was three dimensional; philia, agape, and eros, all wrapped into one. He looked happy in that moment and she had felt her own heart rise in response, straight up from the ground where she thought it buried for good. She promised to help Severus find happiness. She knew he was so very close to it, if only he would reach out and claim it.

 

She intended to keep that promise, Connie was right. He needed their help. That’s why she was here, now wasn’t it?

 

Her throat tightened with emotion as she imagined Veronica and Severus together on their wedding day. Their faces were blurred but their eyes were so happy. Covering her eyes with her hands she slowly exhaled her anguish. She would help them both. Veronica deserved to be happy, and if Severus Snape was the man who could give that to her, who was Hermione to get in the way?

 

He was prickly, rude, and arrogant, true. He was also brilliant and incredibly brave. Even though most people found his sallow complexion and his dark looks unattractive, Hermione knew that the right witch would appreciate his fascinating mind and the deep soul that hid below that pallid, forbidding surface. In spite of his bad opinion of her, his open _dislike_ of Hermione, he was _worthy of love_.

 

The pressure in her chest didn’t lessen, but Hermione’s energy was renewed in the strength of her conviction. She may have lost her heart, but she would never lose her self-control.  


* * *

 

A stately, pale woman with a single white rose over her right ear stood staring into the mirror in the washrooms of Wizarding London’s poshest Tearoom, The Starry-Eyed. Other witches seemed to know to go around her, throwing glances at her without staring like one might eye a dangerous beast. She held about her the air of a cauldron under pressure, ready to blow at any moment.

 

Veronica was in hell. Hermione may have forgotten the next stop, but she remembered. She understood the scene that Connie intended to make. If she made herself ill, perhaps she wouldn’t have to…

 

“VeRONica, there you are, my darling. I was starting to think I lost you.” Connie Rolle’s cultured drawl and solicitous manner made Veronica cringe.

 

Whipping around, Veronica hissed, “You have to put a stop to this, Rolle. Twiffling and Tattings? You are going too far. I agreed to shopping, not a damned revue!”  

 

Eyes crinkling in amusement, Connie advanced on Veronica, weaving her steps to emphasize the sway of her hips. “Then you should have thought twice before you broke Professor Granger’s heart.” A single, perfectly manicured finger poked Veronica’s breastbone. “You will see this day through. You WILL help us find the perfect gown for her to wear to the Yule Ball, and after this little display I think you’ll help shop for whatever my black little heart desires.”

 

Veronica drew herself up to her full height. “We’ve played with Hermione’s sensibilities more than enough, don’t you think?”

 

Unperturbed, Connie looked right back up into Veronica’s black eyes and met her darker mood with a sweet smile. “If you leave now I’ll be forced to explain to our dear charge the cowardice of the hearts of men.” She pulled up the corners of her mouth and rolled her eyes before parroting an imitation of Hermione Granger and her southern English accent, “The bravest man I ever knew wasn’t a Gryffindor, Miss Sykes. ”

 

Confused, Veronica growled, “Rolle, I’m warning you…” She was cut off cruelly, as Connie forged onwards.

 

“He is, no doubt, an irritable man, Mr Jenkins. If you spent more than half your life in pain and absolute isolation paying for a single moment of misunderstanding, one that wiped out hundreds of worthy moments with a single word, you might not put up with the incompetence of others either. Don’t let me hear you malign the Potions Master ever again. Fifteen points from Gryffindor.“

 

Mouth hanging open, Veronica stared at Connie who smirked back.

 

“She is as a rare flower that blooms in the desert of your affection, denied by you, blushing and beautiful. Don’t let her love for you go unmarked in that arid clime because of your own hang-ups. Adore her openly, any of us that knows you can see it in your eyes in unguarded moments. It is time for you to wake up, Veronica.”

 

Licking dry lips, Veronica voiced her worry, “She’ll get hurt. It is a certainty, standing so near to me. I might be the one to...”

 

Connie made a rude noise, cutting Veronica off, “She is strong, she is not afraid of a little pain. You know she’s suffered too? She’s stood alongside Harry Potter most of her life, has been a target in her own right. You do her a disservice by running away, and for what?”

 

Connie spit in the sink beside Veronica, something that Conrad might have done when angry. “To save her from the taint of your past? She who stood up for you openly during your trial and took criticism for it? That ship’s sailed. People already know she’s on your side.”

 

Veronica looked away, ashamed of herself. “I don’t deserve it.”

 

Light fists pummelled Veronica’s chest, punctuating every word that Connie uttered in an angry whisper, “You are afraid that she’ll reject you…” The blows were getting harder, and still Veronica didn’t stop Connie, “You great blind bat, you stupid...” The witch paused as she searched for the right word, angry blotches coloring her face.

 

“Dunderhead.” Veronica filled in the blank for Connie.

 

Connie stopped breathing for a moment, stunned, before tipping her head back and ripping off a belly laugh that made the little crystals in the chandelier nearby tinkle and dance. She grasped Veronica’s shoulder and shook it, trying to get control of the chortling and snorting long enough to nod affirmation, “As always, you are sublimely precise with your verbiage, _Veronica._ You are a consummate dunderhead.”

 

Veronica blew out a shaky breath and Connie was relieved to see a brightness returning to those dark eyes.

 

Connie let go of Veronica’s shoulder and stepped over to the mirror. “Oh bugger it all, I’ll have to reapply all of these glamours.” She punched Veronica on the shoulder, harder this time. “Ruddy bitch. Stay right there.”

 

An elderly witch buzzed past them with a “Hmph!” of offense, not even bothering to wash her hands. Veronica crossed her arms in front of her and started to contemplate exactly how she was going to get herself out of this mess.

 

Connie’s purring voice broke into her thoughts. “Oh come now, Veronica. T and T’s won’t be so bad. If you’re a very good girl, I’ll get Hermione to try on some naughty pieces for you. It’ll be Christmas come early.”

 

At least one of them was having fun. Veronica groaned, and for the first time today was very glad she didn’t have male wedding tackle.


	9. Trahe Me Post Te, Trahe Me Post Te

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some angst surrounding scars and self-image in this one. Hopefully the humor makes up for it.

 

The world of witch’s fashion was mind-boggling. One moment Veronica was sitting in a poshly appointed waiting area, thumbing through a look-book and sipping champagne, the one saving grace of this arm of the trip. Her only warning was the tittering of a cherubic statuary that sat on the ground beside a curtained door. “Here we go!” The next thing she knew, she was being shoved into a cramped changing room, with a battle axe of a woman standing outside, insistent that she try on a set of red dress robes. Veronica _hated_ red.

 

“Well?”

 

Veronica scowled, “I’m almost there.” She was using her wand to get the buttons completely done. “Isn’t there something missing?” She was thinking of the plunging back of the dress that seemed to be inexplicably omitted. She was thinking about taking her hair down for warmth if nothing else, although she rather thought the rose looked perfect right where it was.

 

A blast of cold air from the hall sent Veronica jumping like a startled cat. The purple-haired woman was matching Veronica’s scowl with an equally seasoned frown and then indicated that Veronica should turn. Seething with the indignity, as she distinctly did not recall inviting the witch in she reluctantly turned around. The woman grunted, “Well, if you’d bother with some glamours for color on your lips so you wouldn’t look like a inferi, that’d be stunning.”

 

Looking into the dim mirrors, she eyed the tall, thin figure staring back, every curve emphasised by the exacting cut, and it wasn’t until a slit in the flaring skirt that the dress had mercy and allowed movement.

 

Veronica hadn’t thought she’d be capable of further embarrassment when the woman reached out to pinch in the rich velvet fabric along her breast. “Oi!”

 

“You’re a bit reedy, dear, but walk just so in that and you will own the floor. You look like a queen. Don’t you have the shoes you mean to wear to the ball with you?”

 

What ball? Veronica wasn’t going to any stupid balls. Ridiculous harridan! “Do you think that I need any more height, Madam Pimpilowe?” Just what she needed, she was ready for a fight as the woman unwittingly provided Veronica with a target.

 

Nonplussed, the woman gestured to the hallway. “You should walk down to the viewing room. I think the taller the better, but that is my own bias, Miss Medici. Let us see what your friends think.”

 

Veronica stepped into the hallway, pleased at not having tripped over the skirt. “Miss Medici, I said you need to walk with confidence. Amble. Glide. Don’t merely tread from A to B.”

 

Now Veronica was really riled, she paused to look back at the irritating woman as she pulled back the curtain, “Professor Medici, _Madam_.”

 

* * *

 

Hermione was giving her assistant fits. She insisted on a high collar and long sleeves. She wanted something romantic, but something that she could move in, even run if need be. She didn’t want to be too hot. No, she didn’t want anything too dowdy either. And she absolutely drew the line at pink.

 

She was sitting in a dressing gown which she had pulled tightly closed about her neck. Underneath she was wearing borrowed undergarments from the store, which sold lingerie as well.  The set that was given to her left very little to the imagination, and Hermione was certain that the little cherubic gargoyle was trying to look up her sklrt.

 

A flute of Champagne was pressed into her hand as the woman blustered off to find selections that would meet Hermione’s exacting standards.

 

Connie preened in the three way mirrors, trying on a series of hats. She told Hermione that this trip was about shopping for things that Snape’s lady might like. The hats were the latest in the line. Hermione, like many muggleborn witches, had never really fully adopted pointed hats. She thought they looked like dunce caps, and that very few in the wizarding world could actually carry them off. Headmistress McGonagall was one of them.

 

A voice broke into her thoughts, “Professor Medici, _Madam._ ” Veronica walked into the room, her hips swaying, one hand holding the curtain aside. An organisational demon in Hermione’s mind grabbed onto that bit of information. Where did Veronica teach? What subject? Had she read anything by a V Medici? She bit her lip. Why did she have to be so fucking perfect?

 

Veronica turned away from the room, speaking to the seamswitch behind her, and Hermione was grateful that she had a moment to compose herself, to adjust to the long expanse of exposed back that the dress left open for the world to see. The woman was well muscled, but Hermione could see the faintest shimmer that suggested that Veronica had glamours in place, doubtless covering up a mole.

 

Hermione used to place glamours over herself every morning but had fallen out of the habit as they were uncomfortable to maintain, distracting. Instead, she chose to cover up, only resorting to magic when there was no other way. She had adjusted to her scars in the privacy of her own rooms, but when seen by others, the pain reflected in the eyes of her beholders multiplied her own discomfort twenty fold, and she simply could not bear it.

 

Still, Veronica’s tall thin form was a lovely canvas for the crimson velvet, and Hermione smirked at the colour, commenting aloud. “Professor Snape never liked anything in red.”

 

Whipping around, Veronica was pale, her face drained of what little color it possessed. “What?”

 

Connie stepped over and held out a hand to Veronica. “Steady on. Step into the light, Veronica. Let’s get a better look at you.” She led the stiff-backed witch over to the mirror, saying sotto voce, “You have two options, V. Either you smile and loosen up, or maintain that evil queen is your persona for evening. The dress really is divine.”

 

“Oh, like the Queen of Hearts?” Hermione surged out of her chair to come stand by Veronica and Connie, still holding a mostly full glass of champagne. With her free hand she reached out and idly fingered the soft velvet fabric. The white robe fell open, revealing curves barely covered in white lace and ribbons masquerading as a corset.

 

In her moment of distraction, Veronica snatched the flute from Hermione’s fingers and took a long drink. After brief break and sideways glance at Hermione, standing as a vision in a white diaphanous robe and silk stockings, Veronica whispered, “I’ll get you more.” And with that, she downed the rest.  

 

Connie was looking Veronica up and down. “Hmm. I don’t know, V. Can you do evil queen? You’re always so sweet.”

 

Veronica’s glower metamorphosed into a wicked smirk, and with a careless show of power, she vanished the glass and whipped out her wand in one smooth motion, sending a wordless severing charm at the plaster cherub who had been nearly successful in looking up Hermione’s skirt. The sweet face howled as it fell to the carpet with a thud and the head rolled before coming to rest under a side table.

 

Hermione laughed, holding her hand over her mouth, “Oh, that was amazing.” She giggled again. “Off with his head!”

 

Making a show of stowing her wand, Veronica looked back at Hermione, her eyes glowing with reflected warmth. Hermione’s face shone with open admiration.

 

Madam Pimpilowe watched the whole thing, and interrupted, growling, “I have another for you to try, _Professor_. Back to the changing stall. Or shall I call you your Majesty?”

 

Connie snorted in amusement. “You heard her, V. Giddyup. Maybe something in a different colour. Severus always was like a bull. Flash red and he’s attacking before he knows what’s happening.”

 

Veronica’s eyes widened at Severus’ name and what had been an easy smile metamorphosed into a sneer. “You’d think the man had no self control by the way you talk.”

 

Thinking to calm Veronica’s nerves, Hermione hurried to his defense. “I’ve always thought quite the opposite, really. It is just anything Gryffindor seems to bring out the worst in him.” She tilted her head, and looked away. “He’s sensitive, he was hurt rather badly you know.” She reached out and squeezed Veronica on a velvet clad shoulder. “I’ve been on the receiving end of his ire recently, but it is my own fault. I pushed him too hard. He deserves better.” Sad eyes rose to Veronica’s before Hermione let go, blinking rapidly. She bid Veronica away, “Your next dress, waits. Go.”

 

* * *

 

Connie saw potential, the same potential she had seen at school over the past year. The two stubborn people had palpable chemistry, and could meet one another on an intellectual level. Unfortunately, they were also both incredibly wounded. She chewed on a nail, trying to decide what next to do.

 

A fragile voice broke into her reverie. “Professor Rolle?”

 

Connie turned and found Hermione had sat down on the chez, and she looked very small. She wanted to pick her up and hug her insecurities away. Poor little witch. “Yes, little one?”

 

Hermione huffed and looked up at Connie with a calculating expression. “How does one know,” she ducked her head and hugged herself, continuing, “That you like witches or wizards? Or both?” She turned a delightful shade of red. “I mean… could I like just one witch even though I’ve never felt an attraction for them before? I didn’t think people were wired like that.”

 

Connie sat down next Hermione, a rueful smile on her face. “It is hard to say, love. I’ve always felt that people were too hung up on gender. We love who we love. Thinking too hard about it is a mistake. This isn’t something that books, research, or even Arithmantic equations can help you with.”

 

An exaggerated gasp escaped from Hermione, and she clasped her chest in theatrical shock. “What? Something Arthimancy can’t do?!”   

 

That made Connie chuckle and with a quirky smile she said lowly, “If you repeat that to anyone I will deny it rigorously.” She patted Hermione’s stockinged thigh. “I think you should just relax today. There isn’t a reason to agonise, it’s _supposed_ to be fun.”

 

A thin reedy woman poked her head in from the second curtained hall. “Professor Granger, I think we’ve found a few things for you.”

 

“Coming, Madam Nodwydd.” Hermione stood, hurrying off, leaving Connie to marinade in more champagne and her own thoughts.

 

* * *

  

Veronica was having a poor time of it. Hermione reminded her of that awful scene Thursday night, and it put her in a fouler mood. And she was taking it out on the most proximal target, Madam Pimpilowe.

 

A selection of robes suited to her ‘boyish figure’ awaited her and was brutally edited before most of it came anywhere near Veronica’s body. She refused ruffles and sequins. She tried on an ivory set of robes, and pronounced it too matrimonial. Pink silks made her angry. “What do I look like, a silly twelve year old?”

 

After much blustering and threats to quit that required an admonishment from Connie to smooth over, the poor seamwitch brought in a set of robes that made the irritated Veronica modestly pleased. They were unrelieved ebony silk, a fitted bodice with lace over the arms and shoulders, and voluminous skirts. The back was done up with tiny pearl buttons. It was made for her.

 

“Black really isn’t your best, colour, _Professor._ ”

 

After a momentary regret that she had corrected the damned witch earlier, Veronica answered, “Madam Pimpilowe, I think it suits me.”

 

“Let’s see what your friends think, shall we?” She held the curtain open for Veronica, ushering her back into the showroom.

 

Connie’s immediate response was negative. “Oh, poo. That’s been done before, darling. Very trite. Can’t you do better. Stretch beyond your limits?”

 

Twirling in the mirror, Veronica threw Connie a rebellious look. “I wore red.”

 

Waving her off, Connie instructed Pimpilowe, “Don’t let her bully you. No more black. On pain of my displeasure.” She groaned, “I can’t get Hermione into anything that wouldn’t look at home on Minnie, Veronica. Don’t you go prude on me too. I thought the champagne would have done more to loosen you two up. Don’t make me charm you into cooperation.”

 

Veronica growled, “You wouldn’t.”

 

Connie waved her wand. “Cheer up or I’ll help you, V.” She made a shooing gesture. “Get.” She met the seamswitch’s eyes meaningfully as Veronica slunk off, grumbling.

 

* * *

  

Connie poked her head into the dressing room where Hermione was holed up, refusing to come out. “What is all this fuss, love?”

 

Hermione shook her head silently, refusing to speak. She had an over robe wrapped about her.

 

“Don’t you want a pretty new frock for the Yule Ball?” Connie knelt onto the floor, a feat for her old knees. She might not look a day over fifty but she was pushing 83. This was necessary, Hermione had shut down, and Connie could tell that she had been crying. Taking up a hand, Connie smiled. “Come now, tell Auntie Connie.”

 

A sniff preceded her denial, “It’s nothing, I’m being stupid.”

 

Starting to feel the frustration, Connie chuckled, “Then what could possibly be wrong? Can you tell me?”

 

The pinched face of Madam Nodwydd was reflected in the mirror, and the pity reflected there gave Connie a clue as the silence stretched on. “Madam, if you would excuse us?” The woman withdrew quietly, assuring them that she would be within calling distance.

 

Swallowing, Connie reviewed in her mind everything she’d seen Hermione wear over the past two years. She had never shown an inch of skin, had she. “Hermione… darling, whatever it is.. I promise you it matters little.” Under her hand she felt Hermione tremble.

 

“I hate them. I don’t want to look at them.” Hermione’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, unseeing.

 

“Oh, lovey. What could possibly make you so uncomfortable in your own skin?” Connie understood what that might feel like.

 

The little witch stood abruptly, letting the white silk robe fall away. Scars raked across her chest and back, and in jagged print, her left forearm read all too clearly, _Mudblood_. Stepping forwards, Hermione’s lips twisted in pain as she looked away.

 

Connie’s hand had clamped over her mouth, and she was doing her best to remain still. As Hermione’s back was turned to her, she saw more scars there.

 

In a detached voice, Hermione spoke at last, touching her fingers lightly to what had to be painful flesh, “They offered to cut this one out, but they couldn’t do so without damaging the nerves.” She traced the one on her bosom, a trace of defiance in her voice, “I hate what these remind me of. What they remind others of. I don’t need pity, Connie so you can stop that right now.” Connie met Hermione’s angry gaze in the mirror.

 

Levering herself painfully to a standing position, Connie answered, “You know, I know someone else who has scars.”

 

Hermione’s lips pressed firmly together, outwardly an effort not to shriek.

 

“Have you ever seen Professor Snape’s scars?”

 

Mutely, Hermione nodded. “When I was helping him. I have imagined that his neck must be particularly bad, after all I had no healer training...” She trailed off, shame faced. “And he barred visitors as soon as he was conscious.”

 

Filing that away, Connie went on. “I have tried to get Severus to relax. He is stubborn, and rather prefers to stay covered up. I think that it has become habit. But honestly, I don’t think scars should be hidden. Don’t you think that it is healthier to face these things head on? Covering things up is rather a Slytherin way of dealing with pain, I think.”

 

Hermione winced, “I have tried that. My last boyfriend was repulsed. He wanted me to have the surgery. He didn’t care that I could lose the use of my hand. It reminded Ron too much of what happened.”

 

Connie snorted. “What a berk.”

 

Laughter welled up. “I know. But I cared for him. It wasn’t the only thing wrong between us.”

 

Tilting her head, Connie suggested, “Ever consider getting inked?”

 

Confused, Hermione asked, “What?”

 

“Tattoos, dear. Turn a bad memory into a good one.” She gestured to the arm. “Transform.”

 

Hermione rubbed at the arm. “Won’t that look unprofessional?”

 

Connie tutted, “You already hide your skin as it is. Maybe Hogwarts could use a dose of youth, something more than buttoned up propriety.”

 

Hermione looked ready to object, “Look. The war, both of the wars hurt so many people, I don’t want to remind…”

 

Connie reached out and grasped Hermione on the arm, “Denying your own pain doesn’t help it heal. Hiding it makes it worse. Your real friends will naturally respond to it, but if they really care for you they will see past these surface issues.” A flash of white teeth preceded the next declaration, “There’s no reason to cover up Hermione Granger. You are an amazing witch, a war hero that the whole wizarding world owes its freedom to. You helped save us all. These scars are proof your bravery and sacrifices.” She shook Hermione’s arm lightly, “It is too easy for people to forget that you didn’t spend the entire war with your nose in a book, my dear.”

 

Hermione turned to look at Connie, worry written on her face, “You really feel strongly about this. Aren’t they ugly? Obscene?”  

 

Connie answered firmly, “Absolutely _not_. You are a role model, Hermione. I’ll bet Minerva feels the same way.” She reached up and tucked a few fly-away curls back into her french twist before turning to the rack that was holding a selection of robes. Her hand settled on a set of green silks. “Now, try this one on. Red doesn’t suit you, I think.”

 

As Hermione’s head disappeared under the folds of fabric, her muffled voice could be heard, “Veronica looked awfully good in it.” It was easier to hear her as she emerged, threading her arms into the cap sleeves. “I think she’d look good in any colour, really. She’s so pale she’s like a blank page.” After a pause she asked, “Where does she teach, then?”

 

Connie was ready with an answer, damn Severus’ proud mouth. “St Mungo’s. Guest Lecturer on Poisonings.” Well, it was true, the man taught there every summer and some nights during the year.

 

Eyes wide, Hermione burst out, “Oh, of COURSE. That’s how she knows Professor Snape. They teach together sometimes.” She chuckled, “I can’t say acid green looks good on anyone, though.”

 

Humming, Connie straightened out the folds of silk as they talked. “She refuses to wear the robes, says she doesn’t teach full time so they can’t force her to do anything, especially if they want her expertise.”

 

Hermione was quiet, mind far away as Connie plucked out the pins in her hair on a whim. As the heavy mass of curls tumbled down, Hermione’s eyes snapped back to the mirror. The hair was still wet from this morning. She never seemed to really dry, and she was in too much of a hurry to worry about it.

 

“My my, Professor Granger. You have a lovely mane. I think it must be left down for this, don’t you?” Hermione looked younger, less severe with her hair down. Connie fussed with it, turning curls this way and that.

 

She shrugged, “Always seemed to be in the way, really. And it gets frizzy so easily.”

 

Connie grabbed her hand and towed her out of the room and out towards the showroom. “Let’s see what Veronica thinks.”

 

* * *

 

Veronica had permitted the witch to fasten her into a midnight blue gown.  It was form-fitting, and had a slit up the side that allowed her to move more easily. The waist was high, and the bodice was intricately worked in dense embroidery made to look like raven feathers. Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention.

 

Connie shot her a single warning look.

 

In Connie’s wake came a very self conscious Hermione, dressed in a hunter green gown, whose soft fabric was flatteringly draped. If Veronica was an evil queen, Hermione was a Grecian goddess. She had let her hair loose, and it hung dangerously low down her back, almost to her waist in ringlets.

 

Hermione stepped up to the mirror, and in a clear gambit to get attention away from herself she said, “That one looks nice, Veronica. I think it suits you.”

 

Feeling like she might be missing something important, Veronica ventured, “Thank you.” Thin white fingers gestured, “And you. I must say green is a good color on you.”

 

Eyes narrow, Hermione grinned at her, “I thought you weren’t at Hogwarts. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were a Slytherin.”

 

Veronica stepped back, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. “No, no houses for me I am afraid.” She made a spinning gesture with one long white finger.  “Let me see.”

 

Connie captured Veronica’s gaze as Hermione spun and she mouthed the single word, “Scars.”

 

A swift intake of breath from Veronica brought Hermione to a stop. The frightened, questioning look she gave Veronica brought home how important her reaction was. “Its breathtaking, Hermione. You really should consider this, or something like it.”

 

Hermione’s shoulders relaxed a fraction and she let her left arm hang looser. Veronica realised now that the witch had been holding the forearm flush to her body, protecting it. The edge of the scar peeked out and Veronica stepped forward to say, “How does it feel when you dance? Can you move?”

 

Looking  away from Veronica, Hermione was quiet, waiting for the moment that Veronica noticed her scars. Impatient, wishing to prevent the witch from shying away, and unthinking, Veronica stepped forwards, holding out a hand to Hermione. “Let’s take it for a spin.” Her eye picked out a scar on Hermione’s chest, peeking out of the low neckline.

 

Brow wrinkling, Hermione grasped the offered hand and found herself pulled in close to Veronica who smiled at her. Music started to play in the background. Madam Pimpilowe kept a gramophone and it had found employment. This was not an unusual scene in such a boutique, it seemed.

 

Veronica danced Hermione around the room, stepping and twirling her through a waltz. Hermione was stiff at first, but Veronica led patiently, building up trust by telegraphing what she was doing, and executing much of the footwork to get her partner through some interesting twirls and dips.

 

She revelled in the proximity of the petite witch’s warm body, her waist under her fingers, the smell of myrrh in her hair. Against her side, she found that Hermione’s modest curves were a delicious contradiction of soft and firm.

 

And then Hermione smiled up at Veronica, a brilliant, laughing smile. Veronica felt time slow, felt her heart shudder as though it was holding its breath. Oh, if she could see that smile on the witch’s face all of the time. If only she could hold her like this forever, she would die happy.

 

That was enough to set Veronica’s balance off and she loosed her grip on Hermione. Accidentally stepping on someone’s skirts, she fell forwards and knocked Hermione down with her. Well shite.  The air was knocked out of Veronica. It was a good thing she had no breath to protest, because when she landed, she ended up eye-level with Hermione’s ‘Mudblood’ scar. So that’s what Connie was warning her about. Clearly it was important that she not react badly.

 

Hermione was giggling under her. Good. Good. She laughed too, “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m not very experienced with ballgowns, it seems.” Climbing back to her feet she offered Hermione a hand up and stole an unnecessary hug before letting her go. “What’s the verdict, Connie?”

 

Connie smiled gently at Veronica and Hermione. “I think it’s nearly perfect.”

 

Madam Pimpilowe cleared her throat. “We are running out of time, ladies. If you would proceed back to the dressing rooms we can do a little more, I think.”

 

* * *

 

Veronica was first out, and Connie murmured to her, “You know, Hermione doesn’t have much in the way of ladies garments. You should be glad you didn’t see her pants.” The delicate little shudder conveyed much.

 

“I suppose I could invest in a few pieces for her…” Out of the woodwork, Madam Pimpilowe appeared at her elbow. “What a good idea, Professor Medici. Now from what my coworker said she needs..”

 

Veronica found herself pouring over a catalog of women’s underwear. The sheer variety was bewildering, and she felt an edge of panic. What if Hermione came out? “Yes, yes. Whatever you recommend.”

 

“This silk chemise, and those knickers. And she isn’t too large so she need not wear reinforced brassieres, torture devices as they are.” The seamswitch licked her thumb and paged through, touching the tip of her wand to each selection.

 

A box was set at Veronica’s elbow and she noticed it filling with mysterious pieces of underwear. She had been glad that she was so thin on transforming with the potion that she needed no brassiere support at all. Worse, the filmy scraps were giving her ideas.  

 

The woman droned on, and the box continued to fill.

 

Veronica waved a hand. “Wha-whatever is best.” She was a worm on the woman’s hook. She certainly was squirming.

 

Connie leaned over and said, “Make sure there are garters, oh and teddies for sleep in there. And something in red.”

 

Veronica favored Connie with a flat glare. “And something in silver and green.”  Madam Pimpilowe jabbed a few more selections and added, “That seems generous. Perhaps a sachet? And hangers too?” Connie crowed, “Naturally!”

 

Now Veronica knew she was being conned. She leaned over and whispered, “Are you having a laugh, Connie?”

 

The smug look on Connie’s face was wiped clean as Hermione re-emerged in her robes from earlier. She was plaiting her hair in a single braid, her expression abstracted. Madam Pimpilowe murmured, “I’ll ring this up for you, _Professor._ ”

 

Veronica was trapped. Either she tell the woman to forget it or she had to buy it all in order to avoid a fuss in front of Hermione about it. “Thank you.” Pimpilowe was rather enjoying pulling one over on her. Payment for the Professor jab earlier, and her surly attitude.

 

Connie took Hermione out but they weren’t quite out of earshot when Veronica yelped, “How much?!?”

 

Snickering, Connie pulled her coat on and helped Hermione into her cloak. “I had fun today, Hermione. I hope it wasn’t too bad.”

 

The shining smile Hermione gave in answer was all Connie hoped for and more.  Veronica stalked out, a single bag clutched in her hands. “Well ladies, I think that we’ve done more than enough today. Shall we head back?”

 

Veronica accompanied the Professors to the gates at Hogwarts before turning back towards Hogsmeade. Connie kept Hermione talking, as they shared a debriefing on their thoughts of what might make good presents, assuming Professor Snape’s lady was anything like Veronica. Hermione seemed troubled, but put on a brave face, expressing her hopes that something good might come of the research.

 

Connie chuckled as she spotted the black flapping robes of a Snape in flight overhead, directing Hermione’s attention to a cluster of students who were trying to make snowballs with the slush that accumulated as the day warmed. Hermione shouted down admonishments mixed with advice.

 

It was with great amusement that Connie observed the box with a green bow on it and a scrawled note sitting in front of Hermione’s chamber door. The joy and surprise on Hermione’s face made both of them forget where they were.  Connie didn’t think to warn Hermione before she could pry it open.

 

“What in the world!?!” The box had been packed to capacity and then some. Silky underwear spilled everywhere, leaping out of the package. By the time Hermione had wrestled the lid back on, she had pants on her head, a bra dangling from her arms, and pools of negligee at her feet, ankle deep. There was a strong representation of green.

 

Connie was already laughing at the scene and was leaning over to pick up a pair of pants which had sprung particularly far, one of the first to escape. She didn’t manage to touch them, however.

 

“Accio knickers.” There was Severus Snape, deftly plucking silken pants out of the air with aplomb. Hermione’s grip on the box loosened a trifle. She was stunned.

 

As the dour man handed the garments back a wicked smile lit up his face. “Never thought I’d need to use that spell at Hogwarts again.” He lowered his voice, adding, “Take more care, Professor Granger. Next time I’ll keep them.”

 

Before she could think of any kind of response, he turned neatly on his heel and stalked off. Connie noticed the white rose in his lapel and the spring in his step as she nodded to him in passing. “Good night, Severus.” As he turned the corner Connie swiveled back to Hermione and started to laugh all over again. “Don’t growl at me, Hermione. Come, let’s get you in before someone else gets ahold of your knickers.”

 

That was enough to set Hermione into surprised laughter. The sound rang up and down the hallways, and no doubt woke a few of the owls sleeping in their tower.

 

* * *

 

Determination of purpose fluttered awake in Severus Snape’s heart. He had decided. He knew what to do, although it wasn’t going to be easy. There was nothing else for it, and no one but Hermione for him.  


	10. Ubi Sunt Gaudia, In Any Place But There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione feels sorry for herself.

 

Hermione struggled miserably over the course of the next week. Her emotions swung wildly from the dubious heights of bittersweet joy to the sucking abyss jealous pain. She didn’t know what to make of Professor Snape, and found excuses to avoid him wherever possible. When he was angry with her it was simple, but now she felt like he was watching her, no doubt waiting for her to present him with another example of her Gryffindor arrogance.

 

Veronica was never far from her thoughts. She sent a note of gratitude to Veronica for the thoughtful albeit intimate gift,  for she embarrassed by her generosity.  Hermione had never thought to buy anything other than practical knickers, the others were distracting and confusing to launder. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of invitation?

 

Some of the pieces were wildly impractical, and she was forced to ask Ginny about them, dropping by for a quick visit to Gin’s practice game that didn’t deceive the perceptive red-head for a moment. The questions she asked uncovered an area of ignorance, a blind spot that Hermione wasn’t even really aware that she had. Did girls really wear padding? Why were there holes _there?_

 

She missed talking with Gin, but she was so busy with Quidditch and Hermione with teaching that it took more energy than was decent to get them together without interfering in family functions. Ginny asked a few questions that were probing, but Hermione escaped them, refusing to divulge any more, merely saying that Professor Rolle had strong-armed her into going dress shopping for the Yule Ball. Taking the bait, the pair of friends passed the rest of the hour that Ginny had to spare pleasantly, speculating on who would show up and with whom.

 

Connie was alright but she was so much older, judgmental, and pushy. She felt like talking to Connie was talking with an interfering Auntie, one that liked gossip. She wasn’t the ideal repository for Hermione’s fears, as pleasant as she might be, as well as incredibly _worldy_. Connie Rolle still could shock Hermione, and widened her world on more than one occasion by the casual mention of something usually not spoken of in polite company, and was always willing to explain as she was ever the teacher. It was almost always lewd.

 

A moment of insanity led her to follow up the thank you note to Veronica with an invitation for tea. A long, grey week passed with no answer, and Hermione wondered if she had overstepped, perhaps been too eager. That was one of the rules of dating, was it not? Don’t owl too soon. But she told herself that she didn’t want to date Veronica, since the witch was destined as Professor Snape’s chance at love. She wondered if Severus made any progress in picking out a gift.

 

The day after their shopping trip, Connie and Hermione sat down and wrote a crazy version of a letter to Santa.

 

_Dear Severus,_

 

_It has come to my attention that you have no idea what to get for me for Christmas. Please find the enclosed list. I have taken care to include suggestions of a selection of possible gifts as I have no idea of who I am, nor how you actually feel about me. Before you decide to set this letter ablaze, please reflect a moment. While you are rather naughty, sir, I have been a very good witch and I think I deserve a nice present._

 

_Quills and parchment._

_Tea._

_Chocolates._

_Flowers._

_Perfume - have a care with your choices, nothing too strong._

_Hair combs._

_Simple jewelry. No need to get carried away. No precious stones! Too early for that._

_Gloves for potions preparations._

_Potions. Anything handmade by you is sure to be treasured._

_Tickets to a concert._

_An invitation to dinner._

_A silk robe._

_Erotic poetry, you’d likely do best to read it to me. You wouldn’t want me to develop a squint._

 

_Lastly, whatever you choose, do us both a favor and let go of your fears. You have to trust me and respect me. Certainly there are valid dangers in the world, but I cannot imagine that if you admire me that I would be a defenseless airhead.  It is for me to decide if you are worth the risk. I won’t deny that there is a chance that one or both of us may get hurt. Trust me. If I am to love you in return, you have to let me in._

 

_Of course, if you find that you have grown indifferent to me, and my hopes of happiness with you are truly dashed then by all means, just buy me a book. Pick something amusing, a comedy, perhaps._

 

_Potentially yours,_

_A Witch Who is Admired by Severus Snape_

 

_PS - What are you hoping to get for Christmas this year, sir? I imagine charcoal made of Hawthorne charred by a Welsh Green might suit you nicely. Could help with boosting the clarity quotient of the wit sharpening solution you’ll need to find a way to make it up to me if you start shopping at the last minute._

 

As they sealed the letter and sent it off with the help of a House Elf, who Hermione attempted to pay for their trouble, Connie left to finish her own Christmas list for her personal Santa, some bloke she called Whit.  

 

Hermione stared off into the flickering light of the staffroom fireplace and burned with curiosity. When would she find out who this witch might be for sure? She hoped it was Veronica and that he would make her happy. Would he bring Veronica to the Yule Ball as a date? Could Hermione reconnect with her there? Her heart floated on the happiness of that thought for a fleeting moment. Interfering, logical organ that it was, her brain presented her with the image of Snape and Veronica sailing about the ballroom. He would of course be dressed in impeccable robes, buttoned to the neck, and flowing just so. Hermione imagined Veronica cheekily dressed in red, calculated to irritate Severus into a lively verbal sparring session. They would make a striking couple.

 

Tears filled Hermione’s vision, and before they could fall she became angry with herself. Neither would dance with her, she was sure of it. No one wanted to be with her, why would they? She was an interfering, arrogant Gryffindor. Oh, she knew exactly what Snape referred to, and wanted to deny it but a small part of her spoke in Ron’s voice, “You just can’t stand it when you aren’t in control, can you? Let people be, ‘Mione. They can fix their own problems.”  

 

She knew she was bossy, but she couldn’t help herself. Since that first cringeworthy meeting on the train in their first year, she had grown quite a bit and was much more sensitive to people’s feelings, but she should have known that Professor Snape would be difficult to help. She thought she was up to the challenge, that an earnest and true desire to see him happy would be enough to get through.

 

Severus Snape had spent half of his life being manipulated, told who to be. He was forced to act a certain way so that he could fight from behind, be at the critical place and time, allowing the Light to conquer Lord Voldemort. She had interfered with him, denying him his own death, and further by speaking in his defense at his trial, demanding recognition for the sacrifices he already had laid on the altar of his regrets. His transformation from Professor Snape, spy and Death Eater to the current unencumbered Professor Snape had been outwardly subtle and most couldn’t see the difference in a short sitting.

 

Many of his quips held buried treasures of truth and humor if you weren’t too blinded by preconceived notions to catch them. She had seen him at his most vulnerable, so perhaps she had a better chance of decoding his cyphers as a consequence.

 

He was still strict in his classroom, but from what she heard, he was miles more patient, particularly with the youngest students than he had ever been before. She noticed that he brewed ointment for Filch and McGonagall, that he supported Poppy when things were too busy.

 

He even unbent enough to engage with her in debates about the latest articles in _Charms Quarterly_ or _Potions Today_. The last time they had the opportunity to talk in that manner felt like years ago now. She missed that, and it was her own doing. That seemed to be avoiding one another.

 

She had been pleased to see copies of his second hand Journals rolled and stuffed into her box in the lounge yesterday, but her mood quickly squashed that happy thought. He was disposing of his old copies as he had always done. It meant nothing, there was no hidden message. He’d marked articles of interest for his own review, not as invitations.

 

When next they attended McGonagall’s little Friday evening gathering, Connie tried to draw both of them out, and Hermione would not move. Hermione told herself it was loyalty to Veronica and the love that must be growing between her and Professor Snape that kept her aloof. She didn’t want to _interfere_ , after all. That particular evening she was feeling particularly waspish, so it was just as well for everyone concerned that she retired early.

 

Weeks ago, the night before that first ill-fated trip to Hogsmeade, Hermione considered long and hard as to what her mission was, and how to best help the irascible man. She had taken into account that Professor Snape would resist her efforts to glean mission critical information. He would most likely shut her down, and she had told herself that she was okay with him lashing out at her if she needed to push him through a roadblock, that happiness must lay in wait for him if he would only reach for it.

 

How wrong she was. In her head she had decided that she could _expect_ his prickly insults and that she could take the assault, steeled by that _expectation_. After all what could he say to her that he hadn’t said before?

 

What she hadn’t taken into account was that he would walk away. That he might not forgive her. Always before with her admittedly few friends, she knew that they valued her enough to work through the tough spots. This was something else entirely. She had forgotten that he had never forgiven James Potter, Sirius Black, or even Harry for being his father’s son. What a fool she was, to have miscalculated so grossly.

 

When another week went by with no answer from Veronica, Hermione decided that Professor Snape must have confided in the witch, _his witch_ , as to what had transpired. Perhaps she had caused trouble between them. A sharp pang of sadness lifted out of her chest to her throat, where it tightened, a bittersweet hope that it meant that the two were getting on in spite of her. She wouldn’t blame Veronica for siding with Severus, or for at least withdrawing in a show of support.

 

Hermione threw herself into the flurry of work associated with end of term grading and project wrap-ups, hoping that the mind-numbing toil would soothe her mind and make her forget the soul-sapping loneliness that dogged her heels.  

 

* * *

 

Over meals and in the halls Conrad continued to prod at her, gently attempting to draw Hermione out into conversation, curious to see what the unnaturally quiet witch was thinking. Repeated failures forced Rolle’s hand and he was becoming seriously concerned. Enough was enough, he cornered Hermione, wand out, and refused to allow her to leave the classroom until she talked.

 

At first she put up a fight, her features hardened with irritation. “Conrad, what do you think you’re about?”

 

“Hermione, you have been too quiet, darling. Now, as your friend I insist that you tell me what’s eating you. It can’t be dementors, I’ve checked the grounds.”

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

Conrad barked, “Poppycock. Don’t you dare lie to me. I think I deserve better than that.” The anger that crept into his voice was emphasised by violet sparks that flew out of his wand, bouncing on the floor before winking back out of existence.

 

Eyes brightening with burgeoning tears, Hermione folded, unable to handle another person being angry with her. Wilting like a flower, Hermione dropped into a chair and said, “I am all confused, Conrad. All mixed up. I think I must have insulted Veronica somehow. I invited her for tea. She hasn’t returned my owls.” She looked embarrassed at the admission, wiping her nose on a conjured tissue that was vanished as soon as she finished with a casual flick of her wand.

 

Frowning, Conrad crossed his arms across his chest. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been moping about the castle for two whole weeks over that silly trout?”

 

A blush heated Hermione’s face and a spark of defiance lit in her eyes, “Don’t call her that!”

 

“Well, if she can’t be bothered to respond to Professor Hermione Granger’s tea invite, I’d say she isn’t worth the bother! Here I thought there was something seriously wrong. I was ready to sew Severus Snape’s lips to his knees to stop his…” Conrad’s declaration sputtered out as he noticed Hermione’s growing distress.

 

She wrung her hands. “I imagine I just misunderstood. Read into things too much.  It was just an afternoon of shopping, but I thought we carried along rather well.” She blushed deeper. “And the lingerie made me think that she held a certain kind of regard for me in turn.”

 

It was lucky that Hermione was too embarrassed to meet Conrad’s eye at that point, because he only barely stopped himself from laughing outright.

 

Hermione examined her nails, burbling on, “I suppose on the continent gifts like that aren’t so loaded with meaning. Italian wizards and witches must be rather worldly. Here I am blushing like a fourth year over lacy pants.”

 

Conrad couldn’t believe his luck. Hermione _liked_ Veronica. Veronica hadn’t been careful enough to hide Severus’ own admiration for Hermione. The tangled webs we weave, no wonder she was confused. “Oh, my poor little chick. Has Severus crawled back out of the dungeon yet? Are you two speaking to one another again? I miss listening in on your little debates and I told him to fix it a week ago!”

 

Hermione looked horrified, “Oh no, Connie. You don’t need to do that. There isn’t anything to fix, you see. I overstepped, and he’s had enough of being pushed around. I should be apologizing…”

 

In an uncharacteristic move, Conrad reached up and tugged at his own hair, only moments ago perfectly styled in rippling platinum waves. “That stubborn arse of a man. Why when I get my hands on his skinny neck I’m going to wring some sense into him.” Letting go he pointed a finger at her, saying, “And you aren’t that much behind him with your gloom and sad looks when it is about to be Christmas. You have to buck up! It’s positively obscene watching you ghost and moan about the castle. Darling you’re still _alive_ if you haven’t noticed.”

 

Failing to get the desired response, he pushed further with a calculated quip, “The only moans I want to hear from you here on out are the kind you make in the bedroom.” Perfect white teeth flashed as he smirked at her.

 

“CONRAD!” Torn between amusement and alarm, Hermione covered her mouth with her hands. “Good lord, Conrad. Lower your voice, the students might hear you. I am _highly accomplished_ in silencing charms, thank you very much.”

 

“Yes, yes. You’re the brightest witch of your age, I’ve heard of you.” Professor Rolle paced back and forth before asking her, “You are going to the Yule Ball, yes?” He had a thought, and his feet were itching with the idea.

 

Thrown off by the violent tug in a completely different conversational direction, Hermione answered, “Well, I told Harry and Neville I would be there.”

 

Conrad stopped and looked at Hermione with a gaze that made her feel as though he were looking through her and not at her. “Righto. Well, I’ll see you there.”  He turned to leave, pausing to clap Hermione on the shoulder as he passed, perhaps using too much force as she had to brace herself to prevent herself from falling.

 

The wizard was muttering to himself as he stomped away, and Hermione only just made out, “White-livered, mouldy rogue…we’ll see about...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeves breaks the fourth wall, zooming out into the hallway, intercepting you, dear readers to deliver this missive in his best-stage voice: 
> 
> Hold those worries at bay,  
> Conrad will save the day.  
> Severus will face the kraken  
> FIX THIS OR BE SENT PACKING!


	11. There Are Angels Singing. ‘Nova Cantica!’

A dress hung on a form in the corner of Hermione’s Junior Faculty quarters, and it created the illusion of a headless apparition that she fancied portended a terrible evening ahead. Harry Potter was coming to the Yule ball, as was Ginny Potter and Luna Lovegood. Even Neville and Seamus were coming. Logically she knew that she wasn’t going to be tucked into a corner behind a journal, and somehow she just had no enthusiasm for general society. Talking to people was terribly draining.

 

Severus, _Professor Snape_ , had made an effort to talk to her once more. Hermione might have an eidetic memory, but she couldn’t remember much after he told her that Veronica Medici was nothing to him, a passing acquaintance. She could remember her vision flooding over in red, and the next moment she was panting and the entire staff table was staring at her. Snape was gone.

 

Rumors placed him trudging back into the castle, looking like an angry drowned bat. Later Professor McGonagall had called Hermione into her office.  “Professor Granger, whatever Professor Snape’s personal failings might be, and I am certain they are many, it is not acceptable to set fire to his robes in front of the entire school.” Hermione hadn’t missed the ironic upward twitch of Minerva’s lips as she added, “Especially not for a third time. See that it does not happen again.”  


Thoughts of skipping out on the Yule Ball danced like sugarplums in her head the night before, but she was a Junior Faculty member, and as such she was obliged to attend. Not only that, she knew that Connie was going to hound her all of the way to the gates of hell if she did not. Shortly after that fateful shopping trip, Hermione allowed herself to be persuaded by Connie to buy the green silk grecian gown, the one that didn’t button up to her ears and foolish witch that she was, perhaps still having hopes to dance with Veronica once more, she promised faithfully to wear it.

 

That very morning at breakfast, she had received a wink and a pair of mistletoe earrings from Connie. “An early Happy Christmas for you, darling. Don’t think for a moment that those count towards your Madness score.” They were beautiful, in bronze with little pearls as berries and she was sure she had seen them before.

 

Hermione’s stomach did backflips at the idea of people seeing her scars and she poured herself a whiskey and soda, downing it in one go. It did little to blunt the sharp shredded edges of her tattered nerves, formerly forged of steel, or so she fancied. She never felt the need to keep calming potions in her rooms, and tea just wouldn’t cut it for this particular occasion. Drinking on the job, what fantastic new low will she sink to next?

 

A chiming bell reminded Hermione that she couldn’t put off getting dressed any longer, and so she levered herself out of her bed and set to work.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione needn’t have worried about the reactions of her friends, and she felt silly in her own self-consciousness. What was she, fourteen again with cursed teeth? As usual, Ginny read her like an open book, and had whispered, “You look lovely in that dress, Hermione. I hadn’t seen your scars for a ages.” Ginny had fixed Hermione with an intense look, one that seemed to will confidence into her friend. “You’d be surprised how sexy they are. Very fashionable, I blame Harry. There’s no witch like you, Hermione Granger. I’m glad to see you owning it.”

 

Hermione was taken aback, and a mumbled thanks over a half-hug was all the answer she could muster for her best friend.  It was lovely to be surrounded by her old friends once more. She had sipped cider, and the music was just getting started when a hush settled over the crowd. Hermione followed suit and looked over to the entrance. There stood Lucius Malfoy, and on his arm was none other than Veronica Medici. _Professor_ Medici, a tall column of gorgeous woman dressed in an exquisite garnet red velvet gown.

 

Admonishing herself, Hermione couldn’t rip her eyes away. She had told herself that whatever happened that day was a passing fancy. Maybe she was bisexual, or gay, and it wasn’t anything special about Veronica, but her traitorous heart sang at the sight of the witch. Snape’s witch. On Lucius Malfoy’s arm of all things. 

Misinterpreting Hermione’s distress, Ginny put a supportive arm around Hermione and murmured, “Don’t worry, Hermione. We won’t let him near you.”

 

Cold shock was subsumed by flames of rage as Hermione stiffened. “He doesn’t bother me. He’s a snake who needs dentures.”

 

Seamus whistled lowly, “Who’s the bird with him?”

 

As though she heard them talking, Veronica’s dark eyes clamped onto Hermione, who answered, “Professor Veronica Medici. She’s an Italian Poison Mistress, teaches at St Mungo’s part time.” Her tone was clipped, bitter, and her eyes flashed with hurt confusion. It was enough to force Veronica to look away.

 

Harry said, “Blimey, Hermione. How do you really feel? Whomever she is, she’s rather brave to show up on the arm of that filth. I heard that Narcissa’s request for annulment was granted last spring.”  

 

Frowning, Hermione stood up on her toes. She wished she were tall like… like Veronica. Craning her head around she, searched for a black smudge of foreboding and was concerned to not find him. She chewed on her lip, trying to remember the duty roster for patrolling. The faculty had divided it up amongst them, and she had been certain that Professor Snape was on the last hour, like herself. She planned to suggest that one of them stay outside and the other walk the halls for maximum coverage and mutual comfort.  

 

He wasn’t there.

 

Neville, perhaps misinterpreting her search stood up to her and asked Hermione to dance. Hermione’s mind was too distracted, so it was easier to accept than to think of a valid excuse not to dance. Really, she had no idea of doing much dancing, expecting to take a turn or two with Professor Flitwick and Harry in turn, out of courtesy so Professor Snape wouldn’t feel obligated. Now she found herself being led out to dance floor on Neville’s arm. A late bloomer, Neville had proven himself to be a powerful ally in the fight against the Death Eaters, a natural leader of the student uprising within Hogwarts and a compelling speaker. He was still shy, retiring, and Hermione rather thought he was interested in Hannah Abbott.

 

The dance was a traditional English Country dance and Neville took his place in the line of wizards opposite the line of witches that Hermione stood next to. Her mind worked on the problem of where Professor Snape might be and was he okay, seeing as his date was here with someone else, someone that he knew. Her fickle heart was incensed on Severus’ part. How could she?

 

A glance up and down the line sent Hermione’s heart racing. Lucius Malfoy and Veronica Medici were the lead couple. She could see Veronica’s face and it was obvious that she was deeply unhappy. Lucius on the other hand smiled and flirted and appeared to be having the time of his life. She couldn’t help but notice when they came together for a turn before stepping back in line that Veronica had smacked Lucius’ hand away from her bum. It made Hermione giggle, and she tore her eyes away before she could draw attention to herself.

 

“I take it you know, um, what was her name? Ah. Professor Medici.” Neville, bless him, hadn’t missed a thing.

 

Keeping her tone casual, Hermione admitted, “We’ve spent some time together. I gather I never made it past ‘tolerable acquaintance.’”

 

It was Hermione’s turn to step into the center of the dance with Neville and they gamboled up and down the line, holding hands. Hermione had forgotten what an effort these dances were. At the head of the line, Hermione tottered as she misinterpreted Neville’s hand pressure to twirl, and Hermione felt a steadying hand on her elbow that firmly set her back on track. She almost lost her footing again as she realised from a flash of red in her peripheral vision that it had been Veronica who had been her savior. A breath of frustration huffed out of Hermione. Why couldn’t she figure the witch out? Her traitorous heart was hammering at what she was sure must be 210 beats per minute.

 

A gentle squeeze from Neville brought her back to the moment. “Hey, Hermione. Stay with me. We can talk about whatever it is later.”

 

“No, everything is perfect, Neville. I’ve just had a bit too much soda with my whiskey.”

 

The second set involved everyone dancing at a more sedate pace, weaving back and forth, partner handing off partner. To her immense relief, Lucius Malfoy made no move whatsoever to embarrass or belittle her. In fact, it seemed that whatever quip might have been on the tip of his tongue died as she reached out to lay her left hand on his arm, fully exposing her Mudblood scar. As they twirled and were about to part, he only said, “You are radiant tonight, Professor Granger.”

 

Hermione decided that the whole world must be drunk for the ball tonight and none of the laws of nature were reliable. At a loss, mind scrabbling about to catch up on the social implications, she found herself smiling with a duck of her head. “You are too kind, Mr. Malfoy.” And with that they parted, each finding new partners in the dance.

 

After the second set, Hermione begged Neville to allow her to rest. Blasted man seemed barely winded but he smiled easily at her and led her off the floor and away from Professor Veronica Medici and her date, Lucius Malfoy. As they returned to their table, Neville helped her into her chair. “I’ll get us something restorative to drink.”

 

Hermione’s waved a hand in thanks and she stared at the emotional puzzle that laid out before her. Was this a trap? A renewal? She twisted in her chair, looking around the crowd. There were swathes of scarlet, crimson, and flame red, but she could not locate garnet amongst them. Next to her, Ginny groaned, “Oh no. Harry…”

 

Glad of the distraction, Hermione turned to look at her friend who reached out to grab her hand, moaning in irritation. “Harry’s going over to talk to Lucius Malfoy. Why does he have to feel like he’s obliged to become everyone’s chum? It has been YEARS and the Malfoys are well enough without him.”

 

Ripples in the crowd reflected Hermione’s fascination and Ginny’s anxiety. Seamus had taken out his wand and was watching, coiled tight, ready to strike.

 

Where was Veronica? Hermione looked around and caught a glimpse of her standing in the doorway with a frustrated look on her face, a cloak folded over her arm. She was set to leave, and Harry Potter was interfering in her plans. Apparently unwilling to wait, she stepped out of sight into the hall.

 

Hermione stood up, biting out to Ginny, “I’ll be back.” She cast a quick version of ‘Notice me Not,’ and ran after the lady in red.

 

* * *

 

Veronica was ticked off at Lucius. He’d been brought in on the secret, and she had already endured hours of ribbing after admitting aloud that he harbored feelings for Hermione Granger. The bastard criticised her, itemising her dubious charms, “Granger is a freckled, snub nosed, overeager know it all. Her eyes are sharp, shrewish. Oh and that dreadful hair, it has a mind of his own! Cursed, surely. Her teeth are tolerable, I suppose. I recall many a time you snarling over drinks what pains she put you through, having to grade the feet of essays and extricate her from difficulties that were a result of her Gryffindor arrogance. I rather thought at one time that you took it as your personal mission to humiliate her at every opportunity.”

 

Severus snorted, recalling that day he had insulted her in the hall after his godson had grown her teeth to incredible proportions.

 

“In fact, just a year ago, I distinctly recalling you say of her that she’d best marry the youngest Weasley boy, as with her looks and personality, she’s only her wits to recommend her. Those scars do little for her, I should have thought her friends at least would encourage her to cover up.”  

 

Forced to defend his choice, he snapped, “These things were true, but that was only when I first knew her as a schoolgirl. She’s grown into a lovely woman, one whom I’ve come to consider one of the most desirable witches of our acquaintance.”

 

Lucius watched his friend, intrigued. “I am surprised, Severus. You do know that you could have had any number of the most enchanting witches in society. I rather imagined that Narcissa was set to give you a go, actually.”

 

Severus had felt nauseous at the very idea. It was too incestuous. She had invited him to tea, owled him for advice. Looked after him when he was a lost first year.  

 

Taking his silence for encouragement, Lucius forged on,  “Granger has no magical family, and look at her connections, of course there is Harry Potter but you can’t stand the Saviour. The Weasleys? Really, Severus. You intend to harness yourself to that?”

 

Grinding his teeth, Severus was contemplating the many ways in which one might hex a nosy friend.

 

After a pause and a long look, the blond wizard brought his argument to an unanticipated conclusion, “But all of that would be nothing, if she really loved you. Is this possible? The golden girl and the former Death Eater?”

 

Severus devoutly hoped so.  

 

* * *

 

Lucius was still excluded from most social circles for his very public part in the war, so Veronica thought he’d be glad of a twirl about the dance floor for old time’s sake, but he would not content himself with that. When they met up in the Courtyard he’d started in with the lewd comments. He’d proposed a sexual relationship and implied that it would pay well enough to allow Veronica to give up teaching for life. He had to be every inch the jackass she knew he could be. He was flirting with her, taking liberties with her person, all in the full knowledge that he was fucking around with Severus Snape.

 

She sat there seething in her alcove, plotting Lucius Malfoy’s punishment when the soft whisper of silk on stone startled her. Earlier, she chose to retreat to the hall to avoid interacting with Harry Potter, or worse Luna Lovegood. That uncanny little witch saw more than anyone had a right to and Veronica couldn’t afford to be caught out. Not when she had gone so deeply in.

 

Professor Hermione Granger, stood, her face partly in shadow, her curls backlit by the flickering light of sconces set along the walls. “Veronica? Are you alright?”

 

Veronica hastily stowed her wand back up her sleeve. It was a reflex, one that she maintained as necessary even now. “Hermione! Oh, of course. You startled me.”

 

Tilting her head, Hermione seemed to be trying to determine what to say next, so Veronica took the initiative, “I’m leaving.”

 

“What?” Hermione’s brow knitted together in consternation. “Mr Malfoy will be along in a moment, I’m sure if you wait he will be right along. Unless you want someone to walk you to the apparition, point, I wouldn’t mind…”

 

A forced laugh escaped Veronica’s painted lips. “No, Hermione. I’m leaving the country. I’ve accepted a position teaching in Beijing.”

 

“I see.” Hermione stepped closer. “Do you know your forwarding address? I would like to write, if you like.”

 

As if praying for strength, Veronica looked up to the ceiling. “You need not inconvenience yourself, Hermione. Your good regard is enough. I’ll have little time where I am going for anything beyond my work.”

 

Hermione leaned back against the wall of the little alcove Veronica had chosen and frowned. “I don’t understand. You are expecting to be too busy to correspond?”

 

Agonised, Veronica said, “Yes, but..” She couldn't say it. Blast and damn! 

 

Bitter understanding darkened her eyes, and Hermione looked down at her feet before she whispered, “But you wouldn’t anyway.”

 

Veronica turned her back to Hermione, her shoulders tense. “No. I don’t think it wise. It has been confusing, and I think it best for us both if we leave things here. A fond memory. No cross words or room for misunderstanding.”

 

Stung, Hermione bit out, “Funny. Where I come from friendships are meant to last more than the span of a few hours. In the whole wide world of magic we can bridge gaps, traverse time, and fly unsupported. Even muggles can talk with one another from one side of the globe to the other. So what’s the problem?”

 

Emotions roiled in Veronica, and she was overwhelmed with guilt for playing with Hermione’s affections as she had, for turning what was supposed to be a conciliatory act into further cause of heartache for the witch, one she cared for very much. It simply had to be this way. Veronica was going to disappear, never to be seen again.

 

She hoped that someday, Hermione would forget this aspect. “I cannot explain it to you, Hermione. I am, for what it is worth, very sorry.”

 

Feeling every bit a coward, she turned back to Hermione and leaned down, gently kissing her on the cheek before walking away forever. Overhead, a bunch of mistletoe, already heavy with berries, produced one more with a faint chime.


	12. And There The Bells Are Ringing, In Regis Curia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the gifts that this Challenge has afforded me is the opportunity to work with a new writer who has helped me beta, [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked). She's worked very hard and I am very thankful.

It was some time before Hermione made her way back to the tables. She needed to spent a moment in the lav,  Neville looked relieved, greeting her with, “There you are. I’m glad you didn’t leave. I didn’t think my dancing was that terrible, but you would be too kind to me even if I broke your foot.”

 

Hermione winced internally before returning Neville’s smile. “No, Neville. Just spent time getting caught up with a friend. You dance rather well, I enjoyed it.”

 

Luna was off dancing with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Hermione watched the pair with admiration, opposites complementing one another beautifully on the floor. Luna had taken to the Mistletoe Madness contest with fascination and was asking all of the faculty members where their bunches had been placed. Connie burbled along, fueled by the enthusiasm of the former student, the subject providing a pleasant distraction as everyone warmed up to the crowd.

 

“Shall we give it another go, then?” Neville asked, fidgeting with his sleeve. It occurred to Hermione that Neville still wasn’t comfortable with people, in spite of his bravery under the extreme pressures of the war.

 

Hermione smiled back at Neville and nodded acceptance of his invitation, marvelling at how much the young wizard had matured over the years. He was scarred just as badly as she was, worse since the Carrows had gone for his face. “Why not.” He was handsome in his own way, and while she could still make out the gaptoothed chubby friend she grew up with, Neville Longbottom the man shone through.

 

* * *

 

Step one of Severus’ grand plan to set things back to rights was achieved. Lucius nearly required coercion to convince him to leave after he had been so well behaved with Potter. The pureblooded politician was itching to mingle, and it irked him to let the opportunity to slip through his fingers. Now Severus was changed back to his usual buttoned-up masculine persona and had taken up a position in the shadows.

 

He observed as Neville chatted amiably with Hermione, noting the anxiety in the lad’s looks and fidgeting with his robes, his drink whose straw was chewed to ragged twisted scraps and the paper napkin that sat, shredded to bits. Internally he had laughed as he danced with the lad earlier, he whose worst fear he once embodied. Neville easily twirled and him about, leading Veronica up the figures swirling about gracefully in Garnet velvet robes. Alas, Veronica had to stay buried forever, but the insights he had gained through her eyes shifted his world. If Neville ever found out, he’d probably faint. It would be almost worth it.

 

Amusement faded to sober reflection as Severus shifted his attention to stage two. If he had only had the strength and humility to do this properly weeks ago, he’d never have needed to invoke Veronica. It was time to bully through.

* * *

 

Hermione was returned to her table by Neville who had thanked her for the dance. He took himself off, gallantly assuring that all of the witches who wanted to dance had a partner. He hadn’t asked Hermione to the dance, there wasn’t an understanding, and really, Hermione didn’t really mind. She sat with Ginny, chatting amiably when suddenly Ginny’s expression changed, a flash of disgust and anger visible for a moment. “I’ll excuse myself. I love you dearly, Hermione, but I wouldn’t talk with him for anyone.” With that she streaked off in search of her husband.

 

Perplexed, Hermione turned as a shadow drew across her light, and turning she looked directly up into the face of Severus Snape.

 

“May I have the next dance, Professor Granger?”

 

Hermione took in the tall, dark figure of her colleague, blinking stupidly. She should tell him no. He must be asking her out of some twisted sense of obligation, surely. So it would relieve him as well. Steeling herself, she reminded herself how much he loathed her. No doubt, Connie or McGonagall had put him up to it. Interfering harridans!

 

She had been silent too long, and Severus’ dark eyes slid away from her face and he whispered, “Please.”

 

Hermione’s heart stopped. Her mind was completely blank, so without consulting with her brain, her mouth retreated to prescribed forms, “I thank you, yes, sir.” Wait.. did she just say yes?

 

There was a light that came to life in Professor Snape’s eyes as she accepted, and he took up her hand, bowing over it before stepping away, “I will return to collect you when it is time.” Not waiting for an answer, he turned away in a swirl of black fabric. Even his formal robes billowed perfectly, and was that green in the lining?

 

Slowly Hermione let out the pent up breath that she had not realised she was holding. The farther the wizard walked away from her, the more the inclination to rescind her acceptance or to outright run and hide grew. Ginny came back, hovering at Hermione’s elbow. “Is he gone?”

 

Chuckling weakly, Hermione reassured her friend. “He’s gone for now. He’ll be back when the next dance is about to begin.”

 

Ginny frowned at her friend in disbelief. “You… accepted? Surely he expected you to refuse, why put both of you through it?” Hermione had filled Ginny in over the happenings of the past several weeks.

 

Nodding Hermione agreed, “I know, Gin, but my mind just whited out. Besides, he can’t be that bad for a single dance.” She had to chuckle as Ginny’s eyes bulged out.

 

“Why for God’s sake would you accept such an arrogant git for a dance.” She leaned in and hissed, “Have you forgotten how he treated you? No one would have blamed you for saying no, although it is not a minor risk, offending one with such skill with potions.” Ginny seemed more thoughtful now.

 

Hermione gasped, “You take that back, Ginerva Potter! He is an honorable man in his own way, he’d never physically hurt me, even after I’ve danced on his every last nerve. He only had to say those things because I wouldn’t take the hint.” Her eyes fixed on Snape’s easily discernable features, taller than most in the crowd. “He has a decent heart, Ginny. He helps Filch with his rheumatism, and he doesn’t sneer half so much. He’s a different man.”

 

A huff above her told her what Ginny thought of that. “I still think he’s an arrogant git. I haven’t forgotten how he treated all of us, particularly Harry over the years.”

 

“He is a reserved, private person, Ginny. Harry outed some of his deepest secrets, shouted them to anyone who’d listen including Lord Voldemort on the final battlefield. And that wasn’t enough, he had to go about telling the papers. Can’t you see how difficult that might be for Severus to bear? The child of his most hated school rival, one who tortured him and confused matters by saving his life, now parading around his old pains?” Hermione shook her head, “I don’t think he’s arrogant, Ginny. I think he’s proud. Frankly, seeing as Harry could never had lived to see his Seventeenth Birthday, much less defeated Lord Voldemort without his help, there isn’t anything improper about his pride, Ginny.” As she continued to speak, Professor Snape’s eyes looked over the crowd and met her gaze steadily. Unbidden, a serene smile slipped onto her lips.

 

A gasp broke the gaze, and Ginny swung down into a seat next to her. Furtively, Ginny cast a Muffliato. “You like Snape.”

 

Hermione looked at Ginny, not processing what she said. “Professor Snape, Ginny.”  

 

A look of incredulity moved in and Ginny lit up with the certainty. “Hermione Granger, the Insufferable Know it All fancies Severus Snape, the Greas...”

 

Breaking in, Hermione corrected Ginny, “It’s Professor Snape, Ginny. And don’t call me that.”

 

“You forgot that he called you an Insufferable Know it All?” Ginny had a sly look on her face, and Hermione was blushing now.

 

She leaned forward and lowered her voice, “Look, Ginny. I can’t fancy him. He loves someone else. Don’t you dare go about telling everyone. Promise. Not even Harry, Ginny.”

 

Ginny’s glee turned down a notch. “Loves someone else, what’s this? Where is she? Why is he dancing with you?” She  growled after moment, “You don’t mean Lily, do you?”

 

Hermione glanced up and saw Snape was on the move. “Look, here he comes. I have to get through a dance with him so shut it. We’ll talk again later.” Hermione waved her wand and the ambient noise of the room turned back up, the music for the previous dance was coming to a close.  

 

Hovering in her chair in indecision, Ginny decided to stay. She glowered at the man as he approached their table and he arched an eyebrow at her. “Mrs Potter. I apologise to draw away your friend from such a lively conversation, but she has promised me the next dance.” Ginny merely inclined her head and waved an open, wandless hand in permission.

 

Thankful that Ginny had the self control to keep her trap shut, Hermione stood up, not waiting for an offered hand. “Right you are. Lead on.”

 

* * *

 

The next song was to be a waltz, which filled Hermione with alarm. Looking up her former Professor and now colleague, she bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say. “Good evening.” The words fell leaden even on her own ears. This was a terrible idea. Why couldn’t she have said no?

 

The corner of Severus’ mouth twitched up, “Indeed.” He held out a hand to her, letting her step into position. “I know you can waltz, you opened the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum years ago.”

 

“Oh, of course.” Hermione blushed, hating herself for her insecurity. She was a goddamned war hero. She’d stabbed a piece of Voldemort’s soul. She could gather the gumption to dance one dance with Severus Snape. A little nervous voice inside insisted she was going to die. She’d drop dead right here, of the combined weight of embarrassment and to her surprise, her arousal. The hell? Hermione stepped up, lightly grasping his hand in her own, and lightly resting her left on his shoulder.

 

The music started, and Snape guided them into a position on the outskirts of the dance floor. Hermione’s brain gibbered. The shoulder under her hand was lean, muscular. As they started to sway to the lilting beat, a thought occurred to Hermione. “I was sorry to hear about Veronica leaving the country. Did you see her earlier?”

 

There was no change in Severus’ demeanor as he twirled them around. Hermione loved those long sweeping steps, and she found herself relaxing, leaning back into the turns trusting the hand supporting her back to stop her from falling. “No, I must have missed her. We aren’t that close.”

 

Electric shocks ran through Hermione’s limbs, jolting her to full alertness. “But, aren’t you upset that Lucius Malfoy…”

 

A rumbling laugh vibrated through the connection they shared. “That bloody wanker? I’m happy for him that he was able to get out of the house without getting cursed.”

 

Hermione’s surprised laugh answered, “I doubt that held. I think Veronica was ready to hex him before they left.”

 

After a space, perhaps encouraged by Hermione’s lightening mood, Severus spoke, “Hermione. I owe you an apology.” He spun her out and she reeled as he brought her back in with a flourish.

 

“Oh?” She had forgotten to breathe there for a moment. Keep it together, Granger. He’s just being nice. Because Connie made him. Or Professor McGonagall. Or both. Let him have his say and then he’ll likely be on his way. She was gratified to see that he looked nervous. He had shortened his steps, and his back stiffened. Hermione’s heart dropped down to her toes as she recalled another failed apology made decades ago, one that was never accepted. Harry had made them all watch it in the Pensieve.

 

His Adam’s apple bobbed under the force of a dry swallow, and Hermione’s eyes were drawn to the white scars on the right side of his throat. They went all of the way around, she knew, but only that side peeked above his collar. Not knowing how to help him she gently squeezed his shoulder and offered him a little sad smile for his trouble.

 

That seemed to be enough to galvanize him, as he finally went on. “I am not an easy man to get along with. You know what I am. I may have spoken truths, but I twisted them cruelly. I have insulted you, blamed you, and accused you of manipulation. You have borne more from me than any other witch in England.” He broke off, shaking his head, “I can lecture to eleven year olds, but this is surprisingly difficult.”

 

Hermione chuckled, softly replying. “I think the words you are searching for are something along the lines of ‘I am sorry for hurting you, for saying those words that I cannot take back. Forgive me please.’”

 

The hand at Hermione’s back tightened a shade, “Are you coaching me through your own apology, Professor Granger?” He looked affronted, but a half smile belied that mask.

 

“I’m bossy, can’t help it when I see a man floundering. And it’s Hermione. Her-my-on-knee.”  She crinkled her nose. “You were saying?”

 

Schooling his features, he made his attempt, “I am sorry for being a surly git. I wish I could take it back. Forgive me.”

 

Hermione’s face, already bright with amusement lit up. “That will do. Thank you, Severus.”

 

The shock that crossed the usually dour man’s face made Hermione giggle. He didn’t know what to do with himself, it seemed. Finally he croaked, “Of course?”

 

Leaning back in Severus’ arms, Hermione felt as light as air as she threw herself into the dance, laughing with mingled elation and relief.

 

* * *

 

Leaning against a pillar, Connie Rolle watched the couples dip and twirl to the music. Earlier, she paid the little orchestra to play the longest waltz they knew. Severus needed the time. To no one in particular she commented, “I wonder how he’s getting on.”

 

The silvered fox draped about her shoulders lifted its head, whuffing quietly before licking Connie’s ear.

It watched intently too, flicking its tail as Connie shifted her weight. “Settle down love, look. She’s laughing. It won’t be long.” It flattened its ears before dropping his head, once again pretending to be an accessory.

 

A wave of gasps spread over the watching crowd as one of the couples floated into the air, the witch and wizard twirling together, their feet trailing gentle sparkles as they trod through a series of complicated steps. “Oh, my dear. Look. How beautiful…”

 

After raising its head to see, the fox jumped from her shoulders, shaking out its fur before popping out of sight behind a table. A moment later a distinguished looking, bearded man stepped up beside Rolle, his eyebrows lifting in askance, his hand extended. “May I have this dance, Connie?”

 

Connie’s tinkling laugh spread above the music. “Oh course, my love. I thought you’d never ask.”

 

With that the couple swung onto and above the floor, their hearts and feet lighter than air.

 

* * *

 

Severus was an articulate man. Why was talking to this witch so difficult? Well, dancing with her was easy at least. She was capable of following directions. Better still, she was anticipating his signals, smoothing the course. It was no small amount of mischief that prompted him to do a little bit of magic. Loosening their gravitational tethers, Severus concentrated on the air below their feet, giving them firm purchase. Hermione had her eyes closed, so the transition was perfect. The trust that she was showing him made his black heart grow a little larger.

 

Freed from having to navigate around others on the floor, Severus allowed himself to drink in the graceful curves of Hermione’s arms, her neck as it turned into the turns. He was fascinated to see that Hermione was wearing mistletoe earrings. Dangerous move, might give a wizard ideas.

 

He marked the moment when her eyes fluttered open, and then her eyes shot wide. He laughed lowly and whispered, “I won’t let you fall. I’ll never let you fall, Hermione.”

 

The comment that came out of her mouth was so utterly predictable, he almost parroted along with her. “How did you do that?”

 

Another couple sailed through the air, and Severus narrowed his eyes at them. It was Connie Rolle and her longtime lover, Whittington Nott. Hermione lifted her fingers in a little wave as they passed and she turned back to Severus with a look of delighted amusement. “No really, I want to know.”

 

Heaving a suffering sigh, Severus said, “I’ll show you later. Enjoy this, the song’s almost over.”

 

A blush lit up Hermione’s face after a wolf whistle from below punctured through her little bubble of joy. “Severus… can they see?”

 

Eyebrows lifting, Severus played stupid, mentally blessing whomever placed a _Silencio_ on the rogue who broke into Hermione’s enjoyment. “See what?  Us? Of course they can.”

 

Her blush intensifying, Hermione shook Severus’ on the shoulder, the only thing she could do without letting go of her death grip. “You know what I mean.”

 

Unable to help himself, he purred, “Your knickers? Lucky bastard probably _can_ see your knickers. Unless you have knickers of invisibility?”

 

“You!” Hermione looked about ready to walk away, except she had no idea how to achieve that. “Stop saying knickers. I can’t believe you!”

 

Severus’ expression was rather wicked and altogether too suggestive. “Shall I hex him for you, Hermione? Just say the word.”

 

“No, just.. Get us down safely!” Hermione’s grip had tightened, the more anxious she became, and Severus felt a pang of guilt for winding her up. It was short lived as he admired the fire in her eyes, and he could not resist the challenge of teasing her enough to make her blush.

 

He dipped his head, shushing her like one might to calm a skittish foal.  “It will be alright, Hermione. Trust me.” It pleased him that she was clinging to him more tightly now.

 

Hermione tilted her head in acquiescence, whispering. “I hate flying.”

 

Severus drummed his fingers on her back as he laid out a plan for landing. “I might have heard something to that effect.”

 

The indignant hmph he received in response made him laugh again. “Come along now, Hermione. Will you walk with me for a little while?”

 

She took a long moment before answering, “It is almost time for us to patrol anyway. Um, do you mind if I check in with my friends before we go? Ginny’s likely to attempt to jinx you if she thinks I’m in trouble, you know how she feels about you.”

 

He handed her down to the ground lightly, twirling her about on the solid floor to a smattering applause as the music and the spell ended. He bowed to her, and she dropped a curtsy worthy of at least a minor Lord. As she straightened her eyes smouldered.

 

It was she who broke contact, had he been staring? Her voice was low but he could hear her murmur, “I’ll be ten minutes. Meet me out in the hallway.” With that, she disappeared from view and he stood, fastened to the spot, stunned. If he fanned that spark to life in her, it could very well be he who went up in flames.

 

Connie appeared at his shoulder in moments with a crooned, “Well done, Severus. Did you apologise?”

 

Severus frowned at her. “Of course. It wasn’t pretty.”

 

Concern darkened Connie’s merry demeanour. “Don’t tell me you cocked it up again.”

 

Smirking, Severus said, “She started to do it for me, because I wasn’t doing it correctly. Bossy little witch.”

 

A heavy smack on the back jarred Severus’ teeth. “You love it.” Nott was here, he had managed to forget that. His old mentor always made him feel like he was 16 again. Knobby kneed, tongue-tied, and awkward.

 

Closing his eyes against the crowd Severus whispered, “So I do.”

 

Connie of course, ruined the moment. “You have been given another chance with Hermione. Don’t waste it. Don’t fuck it up.”

 

Nott’s admonishing voice cut in, “Connie, sweetie. Give the man a moment. He just realised he’s in love. Really in love.”

 

“Is that what that half-constipated look meant? I thought he needed a drink, myself. Is prune juice and vodka a thing?”

 

Severus turned and glared at Connie before throwing up his hands and stalking away. Connie and Whit knew better than to follow.

 

* * *

 

Hermione found Severus out in the hallway. He was standing under a sprig of mistletoe, arms crossed and a look of challenge on his face. She asked, “Is that one yours?”

 

“Well, it sure isn’t yours. Where is yours, by the way?”

 

“Outside, in the courtyard. Wait, why did I tell you that? Now you’ll patrol that space all the more.” She stamped her foot. “Blast!”

 

Severus tapped his cheek. “I’ll do yours if you do mine.”

 

His gaze was intense, and Hermione felt like she was under the pull of a magnet. Would he be satisfied with a chaste kiss on the cheek? Well, maybe that was her own idea.

 

She had hesitated too long and Severus let his arms hang down with a repentant ‘can’t blame a bloke for trying’ half-smile. He offered her an arm. “Well, at least walk with me.”

 

That was enough for Hermione to break through her hang up, and she walked over, and rather than grasping his elbow she grabbed the lapel of his robes and muttered, “You’re too tall.” He bent, and she planted a single kiss on his nose. A tone from above marked the addition, and one of the berries bloomed.

 

She stepped to the side and started to walk towards the courtyard exit, and was amused as he stayed bent down like that for a moment. Severus was stunned. Flummoxed. Befuddled.

 

“What’s wrong with you, then?”

 

Severus slowly straightened up. “My nose is tingly.”

 

“Maybe it could tell that I like it. Now come along. We’re on the clock.”

 

* * *

 

Severus had known in his heart of hearts that once they were on duty, there wouldn’t be much space for chatting, so he was checking the time often. Sometimes twice in the same minute. He was looking at his watch when Hermione yanked him into the alcove from which they had just evicted a pair of randy fifth years. Hermione cast a lumos and shone her wand up at the Mistletoe. “Fair haul so far.”

 

He nodded, glancing around behind him, making certain that there were no other students or adults floating past. Hermione sat down, folding in a matter of fact, careless way. She patted the bench beside her, casting a simple ‘go away’ ward that could be easily dismantled. The bench was warmer than it should have been and Severus wondered just how long those fifth years had been out here.

 

Hermione shuffled closer to him until they were side to side, and after a moment she cast a warming charm.

 

Severus looked down at her speculatively. “Connie’s going to be around to collect this soon. You want your credit?”

 

She hummed, “You don’t mind?”

 

“I promised, didn’t I?”

 

Hermione smiled that little sad smile again. “You don’t have to. I understand. Here,” she gathered up his hand and brought it to her lips. The mistletoe obligingly glowed and then dinged, getting a bit heavier. “And done.”

 

Disappointed, Severus looked away before it occurred to him that she thought that he didn’t want her. “You didn’t permit me to do it correctly, Hermione. You should know better.”

 

“I thought you valued playing the game, skirting the rules. Slytherin, you know.”

 

Severus tipped Hermione’s face up so that he could see the light reflected in her eyes. “We also know when to apply the spirit of the rules to best advantage.”

 

Slowly, eyes fixed on hers, his hand gentle on her cheek he lowered his lips towards hers. His nose slid along side hers and he stopped, waiting. She seemed frozen, transfixed.

 

“May I kiss you, Hermione Granger?”

 

“Oh, yes please.”

 

Joy filled Severus’ heart for the second time tonight. He concentrated on everything, the feel of her soft cheek, warm in the palm of his hand, the smooth heat of her lips tender against his. The taste of her, honey and whiskey made him want more. Her lips parted, as though she knew what he wanted and he took her lower lip into his, gently sucking on it, probing its softness with his tongue.

 

Not one to sit idle she wrapped her arms around his neck, reclaiming her lip and initiating an exploration of her own, tracing his lips with the tip of her tongue, his teeth with a broader swipe before claiming his upper lip with more firm assurance. Slowly, she pulled back and they sat, resting forehead to forehead.

 

She was the first to speak. “My lips are tingly.”

 

He broke into a chuckle, warmth in his voice as he answered. “They must know that I adore them.”

 

Hermione shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Any moment now, Madam Pomfrey’s going to wake me up, and all of this will be but a fantasy.”

 

Severus gathered Hermione in his arms sighing. “I know the feeling, but let me assure you that I am very real. Dearest Hermione, for that is what you are to me, whatever happens between us, this night has been more perfect than I could have possibly imagined.” He buried his face in her hair and breathed in the heady smell of her.

 

The loud creak of the front door broke their reverie and McGonagall’s voice could be heard, a touch of merriment laced through, “Oh, Professors. If you are done patrolling, it is time to wrap up Mistletoe Madness. Feel free to bring any sprigs that might be out there in with you so I can undo the total body bind I’ve placed on Connie…”

 

Hermione buried her face in his chest with a groan before she looked back up at Severus. “Forgot the time, didn’t we.”

 

A low rumbling chuckle was her answer as he reached up to pull down the mistletoe in a casual display of height and reach. The shift in his position pulled his eye to Hermione’s earrings, which shone in the  shimmering light produced as she called up and dismissed her wards.

 

“I rather like those mistletoe earrings.”

 

Hermione looked at him warily. “Don’t start that now. You heard the Headmistress, she’s about to loose Connie on us.”

 

“Cry Havok, and slip the dogs of Rolle.” Stepping out of the shelter allowed him to reach his full height and he looked down at her, “What’s the use of being a dark wizard if I can’t... “

 

A smaller warm hand grabbed his, breaking off his plaintive plea. She towed him towards the light of the door, spilling out into the courtyard. She looked up as he fell into step alongside her, “Because with me you _will_ be rewarded for being good.”

 

* * *

 

McGonagall watched with a heart full to bursting as Professors Granger and Snape entered the staff room together, Snape tossing the mistletoe they had retrieved from the gardens to Connie for a tally. They were arm and arm and Severus seemed to have eyes for no one but Hermione. Hermione was eyeing the tallies, and raised her eyebrows with a smirk. She seemed fairly confident of her win.

 

“I would like, first off, to thank you all for helping to pull off another Yule Ball with surprisingly few mishaps.” A light round of applause went around.

 

“As always, we do have a few students who will be staying at school this season. The Heads of House have posted the names, and we’ll be sure to spend a little extra effort on these poor dears.” Hermione was sitting up straight, attention rapt as she talked. Severus was looking out the window. If he meant for that to suggest that he had no idea that he had not yet surrendered Hermione’s hand, he was really kidding himself. She had known Severus Snape practically his whole life, and as a consequence she was very aware that his relaxed demeanour was all a show. He was paying attention too.

 

“We will be caroling in Hogsmeade on Saturday, be sure to dress warm and I’d like a head count. After Boxing Day we will dismantle the decor. You all outdid yourselves, thank you for your efforts in cleaning up as well.”

 

She looked to the back and found that Connie was still, having finished the tallies. “And I believe that Professor Rolle has tallied up the results of Mistletoe Madness. Connie?”

 

Connie had a large scroll, and reported the results from lowest (Girl’s bathroom, second floor, 8 berries - Madam Hooch), to the top three. “Third coming was my own bunch at 102 berries.” A smattering of applause went around and everyone seemed to be turned to Hermione and Severus. Hermione was sitting ramrod straight, positively quivering with excitement in her green silk gown. Severus was sitting back, legs crossed, and apparently with nary a care in the world. His eyes were half-lidded, glittering.

 

Clearing her throat, Connie smirked at the two most competitive people she knew. “Coming in second with two hundred and thirteen berries is our very own Professor Granger. That leaves Professor Snape at two hundred and fourteen berries. Congratulations, sir. Very well done, the both of you.” The Potions Master cleared his throat and came forward to collect his prize. As he walked back to Hermione, the Headmistress called the meeting to a close and wished them all a very happy Christmas.

 

“One kiss! One. How did you manage that?” It was then that Hermione gasped. “Veronica!”

 

Severus went completely still, and Connie’s head flew up, alarm on her face. McGonagall’s voice querulously asked, “What?”

 

Hermione covered her face with her hands with a dramatic groan. “Veronica kissed me on the cheek under Severus’ mistletoe before she left.”

 

Connie’s hand clamped over her mouth and she turned around quickly to hide the tears of mirth in her eyes. Severus had cheated the one kiss enough to win and only Connie knew how.

 

“Well, I can’t be sorry, Hermione.”  Can’t outsneak a Slytherin. They do what it takes to get what they want. “I spotted you _two._ ”

 

Hermione let her hands drop with a sigh. “We were SO CLOSE.” She shook Severus’ hand in a perfunctory manner. “Good game.”

 

Severus looked over Hermione’s head and rolled his eyes at Connie who had now managed to put on her serious face. Severus opened the door for Hermione, drinking in the sight of his heart’s desire with a small smile as she stepped out ahead of him.

 

He walked Hermione back to her chambers, wishing her goodnight with another lingering kiss. As he found his way back to his own rooms, Severus decided he needed to make sure to never let her go. This remarkable witch had forgiveness in her heart and a fire in her soul that could light his every darkness.

 

Later, he would understand that it wasn't complicated schemes and sneaking about that redeemed him in her eyes and won her heart, but for now he needed a new plan. A few kisses were a good start, however he had every intention of ensuring the tallies for the mistletoe competition would pale in comparison to what they'd share over the next year.

 

* * *

 

Encore: Oh That We Were There! 

 

* * *

 

 

Severus paced the floor of his Quarters for the better part of an hour, his mind alive with possibilities and plans for wooing Hermione Granger. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, but before long it rested, quite forgotten, on the table next to his reading chair.

 

Grand gestures were planned and discarded as they may be too forceful. More nuanced offerings were vetted and found wanting. He was just about ready to give up when there was a knock at his door.

 

There stood Whittington Nott, his one-time mentor and handler when he started out decades ago as a double agent. The wizard had gone to seed, his paunch having developed in the past few years, but he still possessed a magnetism that drew many a witch and wizard’s notice.  Eyes bright with mocking amusement he boomed, “Well, Severus. Well done. Now, what are you going to do next?”

 

Severus surprised himself with a swell of gratitude for his friend’s interest. “Oh, I’ve a few ideas.” He cast a dramatic glance at the clock, “I can debrief you over drinks. If it isn’t too far past your bedtime.”

 

Whit shouldered past Severus, intentionally knocking him off balance. “Mind your mouth, whelp.”

Mind already straying back to the problem at hand, Severus let the door swing shut and absentmindedly poured out the promised drink, bringing it over to the hearth where Whit had bent his talents to stoking a fire. It was cold in his chambers, although never as bad as they had been in the past when he was quartered in the dungeons. Severus maintained his old habit of dressing in layers of wool and would have to peel down soon.

 

Lifting their glasses, each toasting. Severus’ was simple, “Cheers.”

 

Whit smirked, “To Hermione Granger, bravest and most foolish of witches. May she overlook your mistakes and reward your efforts with kisses.”

 

Severus’ mouth quirked up in response, “I am amazed. Reason fails to explain how she, who has eyes to see, chose me.”

 

Quiet laughter rose from his friend who shook his head. “I tell you not to think too deeply on that point, son. Best to accept and revel in it. I know it is a strange experience for you. Long overdue, truly.”

 

“With Lily, I learned that to love is nothing. The few affairs I’ve had have been emptier still until now. With Hermione...,” Severus’ words faltered here and he took a drink. One hard swallow later and he was able to voice the rest of that thought. “With Hermione, I think I’ve known that she held a regard for me for years, and that was something precious, as frightening as it was fragile. A dream that if examined too closely would shatter to nothing.”

 

Whit raised his glass, “Love returned is a miracle, a true one in the age of reason. You will want to take your time and let it grow. The two of you have given much to this world, I think you are both due every happiness. Let’s see what we can do about that, eh?”

 

And so, the two wizards bent their heads together into the early hours, planning a top-secret mission for Severus to secure Professor Hermione Granger’s heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks everyone, especially those who mashed that kudos button or left a comment or seven. It makes my day! 
> 
> PS: If you want something else to read, check the Christmas Fic Exchange, or look at Coromandels' "Tea, Black," for more Snapey goodness.
> 
> UPDATE 12/22/17: I have decided to restructure the work in order to best fit the needs of the Christmas Fic Exchange rules. The story has carried me away and refuses to leave things as they stand. Never fear, it will be finished (if it is the last thing I do!) but Chapter 13 onwards will be re-packaged as a separate work with a little bit of new material in between and a minor addition to the end of this Chapter. Alas, this means that the Chapters removed will also mean comments already made on those chapters are gone, but please rest assured that every comment I've gotten has been lovingly stored away and is deeply appreciated.
> 
> UPDATE 2/2/18: I fixed an inconsistency in the dates. Caroling wasn't on Christmas Eve, Minnie. Daft woman!


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